


Old Wounds

by capsiclewidow



Series: The Tightly Tangled Web [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Natasha Romanov Has A Backstory, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-25 04:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 64,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19738474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsiclewidow/pseuds/capsiclewidow
Summary: “Tell me about the shooter,” Natasha said suddenly, the words leaving her mouth before she’d formed a comprehensible thought to say them. She needed details. Intel. A mission objective.“He’s fast. Strong.” Steve paused and let out an exhausted, frustrated sigh. He glanced down, taking a few seconds before adding, “Had a metal arm.”It couldn’t be him. It had been five years since she’d seen or heard from him, and besides, why now? If his handlers had wanted Fury dead, they could have killed him ages ago. And if he was back, if they’d sent him to kill the head of SHIELD…This was bad. So, so bad.Steve had fought him. He’d been close enough to see his arm, but not close enough to look him in the eyes, see his face. He still didn’t know. If he did, he wouldn’t be this calm.She had to tell him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before we get started...
> 
> I've been working on this since Civil War came out, and I originally never planned on sharing it. It has had many different forms and eventually became this: a five-part canon-compliant account of what Natasha and Steve's relationship could have been throughout the MCU. I've worked incredibly hard on this purely for my own enjoyment and I thought, especially in the Endgame aftermath, it was finally time to post it. A lot of research, rewatching movies, love for these characters, and painstaking effort to include MCU and comic canon has gone into this, and while I'm a little nervous to actually post it, I'm excited to share it too.
> 
> A little disclaimer: all characters and canon material/dialogue are Marvel's. I just manipulate them to fit my needs.
> 
> Title comes from the comic Captain America & Bucky: Old Wounds (2012)
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**WASHINGTON, D.C. | APRIL 2014**

Fury was late.

It was Natasha’s day off. It was six-twenty in the morning. She’d been called in. And Fury was _late._

She’d been sitting in his office for at least ten minutes. Ten extra minutes she could have stayed in the comfort and warmth of her bed, or taken to stop at Starbucks on the way to the Triskelion. If this was so urgent that Nick needed her to come in on a Friday morning, less than five hours after she’d returned from another one of his little side errands, “ _as soon as possible, Romanoff,_ ” then why was he not _here_ already?

She shot him a bitter glare when he finally pushed the doors open, but he ignored her and took a seat at his desk. She remained where she was, leaning back in one of the chairs on the opposite side of it, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Thank you for getting here so quickly,” he said.

“I would have taken my time, but I thought I might be punctual for once,” she replied evenly, expression on her face unchanging. If anyone else spoke to him like that, they’d be stripped of all clearance levels and be demoted to filing paperwork in some lonely corner of SHIELD, if they kept their jobs at all. But Natasha wasn’t anyone else, and she could have sworn she saw the faintest smirk cross his face.

“I know you got in late last night,” Nick began, leaning forward in his chair and tapping on the glass surface of his desk. “But something came up.”

“If things didn’t come up, we wouldn’t have jobs.” He ignored that too, sliding his fingers across the display. The windows behind him suddenly darkened, and she heard the doors to his office click shut behind her. He’d been doing this often lately, whenever he sent her out on her own. It had only been a handful of times over the last few weeks, but she’d suspected from the start that these side missions he’d been assigning her may not be official. She’d been sent with no backup, no pilot, no extraction plan, and wasn’t required to file any reports once she returned. Get in, plug in a flash drive, back up whatever she could, and get out. No debrief, no reports. Hand Fury the drive and that was that. She had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for, just that he clearly hadn’t found it yet.

“I have intel that this ship-“ he flicked his fingers and the holographic display filled the air between them, revealing a satellite image of a giant ship; she could barely make out a SHIELD logo on the side of it- “will be overrun by pirates in approximately fourteen minutes.”

“Approximately,” she repeated. He gave her a look. “And what else does this intel say?”

“It says that this ship isn’t where it’s supposed to be, Agent Romanoff.”

He watched her digest the information, and something about that didn’t sit well. A SHIELD vessel was off course. Purposefully? Why was Fury concerned about a boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean? Surely he had better things to do. She averted her eyes from the hologram and met his. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and whatever he pulled out clacked against the glass when he set it down and slid towards her. Another flash drive. She glanced down at it.

“In fourteen minutes, twenty-five pirates will take the entire ship hostage. Rogers and the STRIKE team will take care of it. This will keep them busy long enough for you to find the control room, copy everything on their hard drive, and get back to the hostages.” Natasha nodded, staring at the drive in front of her, the things he wasn’t telling her gnawing at the back of her mind. “And Agent Romanoff-“ She lifted her eyes to meet Nick’s again- “I want to emphasize that this is _your_ mission.”

Just like all the rest of them. _Don’t tell Rogers._ Natasha agreed that Steve didn’t need to know everything, even though he thought he wanted to. She knew that, although it had gotten better over the last couple years, his trust of SHIELD was still rather limited. But he was her partner. They were the same clearance level, and she led the STRIKE team as much as he did. It didn’t feel right to keep things from him, and not just on a professional level.

“With all due respect, Sir.” Fury lifted an eyebrow, clearly anticipating what she was going to say, what she had held back all the other times. “Captain Rogers and I are partners. Solo missions I understand, but he has a right to know the details of a mission he’s meant to lead.”

“Natasha.” He regarded her evenly, but she still caught the small sigh as he said her name. “Rogers is an excellent agent. You two work exceptionally well together and he’s an incredible asset to SHIELD. But _you’re_ my best agent.” She wanted to roll her eyes. She didn’t. “I understand your apprehension. I do. But some things need to be kept quiet. Some secrets need to be kept a secret, and the more people who know them, the higher the risk.”

She knew that. Of course she did. She didn’t become one of the most highly trained spies in the world - with the exception of maybe the man sitting in front of her - without understanding how an agency like SHIELD needed to exist. But something still didn’t feel right. Her gut was telling her there was a lot he wasn’t telling her. In what world did Nick Fury not trust Steve Rogers? Who _didn’t_ trust the guy? If Nick didn’t want Steve knowing something, it had to be important.

“He’s not going to be happy if he finds out,” she warned him.

“Natasha,” Nick said again his eyes narrowing, but not maliciously. It was more like…pleading. “I would really prefer that he doesn’t.”

Natasha watched him carefully for a few more seconds, before finally nodding and swiping the flash drive off of his desk and standing.

“The alert will be sent to you in about ten minutes. Go get Rogers and be back here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Sir.” She turned towards the door, exiting without another word and pocketing the drive, trading it for her phone. It was almost six-thirty, meaning he was most likely finishing his morning run. She accompanied him sometimes (when she actually felt like dragging herself out of bed at the ass crack of dawn), and she happened to know he ran the same route every morning. At this point he’d be heading east on Constitution Avenue on his final lap around the park before looping back around to head back to his apartment.

Sure enough, after she’d taken the seven-and-a-half minute drive from the Triskelion to the Capitol building, she she caught a glimpse of Steve talking to someone about halfway down the street. She pulled out her phone while stopped at the light at the corner.

_MISSION ALERT. EXTRACTION IMMINENT. MEET AT THE CURB._

She added a smiley face for good measure and dropped her phone back down into the cupholder. She briefly saw him glancing down at his own before the light turned green and she turned. Steve had already seen her pull up, but the guy he was talking to was checking out her car, so she revved the engine purely for dramatic effect before she rolled the window down.

“Hey fellas.” She paused when Steve turned towards her, because _jesus, does that man own a single shirt that fits him?_ “Either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“That’s hilarious,” he replied flatly, approaching the car and pulling the door open. Natasha just smirked at him before catching the eye of the man he’d been talking to before she arrived. He knelt down, still admiring her Corvette (she was used to it, working with so many men) until he realized who was driving it.

“How you doin’?” he said with a grin.

“Hey,” she replied with a smile. Steve slid into the passenger seat, his large frame taking up more space than a normal man would have, filling the air with the smell of his laundry soap, aftershave, and sweat. She gritted her teeth when his arm brushed against hers as he pulled the door shut.

“Can’t run everywhere,” Steve said to the guy, who just continued to grin.

“No you can’t.” She revved the engine a couple more times (just to show off, something that never got old) and sped away, not missing Steve throwing his hand against the dashboard to brace himself. She knew he hated the way she drove, even if he never came out and said it.

“Who’s that?” she asked, once she’d turned the corner to head back to the Triskelion.

“We run the same route most mornings. His name is Sam, he works at the VA,” Steve answered. Both of their phones chimed at the same time, and Steve lifted his to read the mission alert Fury had told her they’d be getting.

“Nice to see you finally make a friend, old man,” she chided, and she glanced over as he rolled his eyes again.

“Ha ha,” he replied flatly, scrolling through the message on his phone. “You know what this is about?”

“Not really.” She kept her eyes straight ahead of her, but could still see him watching her. She had no doubt he’d wonder why she knew about this before SHIELD had sent out the alert. And, for that matter, why she was awake this goddamn early in the first place. “Fury just told me to find you,” she added by way of an explanation. His gaze lingered on her for a few more seconds - she could feel his eyes on her - but then he just nodded and went back to the memo.

“You just get back?” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, hopefully not enough for him to notice. After her conversation with Fury this morning, she felt a bit uneasy about what she’d been keeping from him the last few weeks. Ever since they’d been partnered together, he never really sent her out without Steve. She could tell he’d noticed but never questioned it.

“Yep.” He didn’t seem wholly satisfied with that answer but didn’t push her.

They returned to the Triskelion a few minutes later, gearing up in the armory before meeting the rest of the STRIKE team on the quinjet.

“Nice of the Avengers to finally show up,” Rumlow muttered. He’d phrased it as a joke, but it fell flat. She and Steve both ignored him as the ramp shut behind them and the jet lifted smoothly off the ground.

Natasha worked with him for years and never liked him. Part of it had to do with the simple fact that he was a dick. But Natasha also happened to know he’d been gunning for Steve’s position, and resented the two of them for being his commanding officers and having a higher clearance level despite his seniority (and overall narcissism and misogyny). It gave her quite a bit of satisfaction every time he begrudgingly followed her orders because, no matter how much he hated having a woman for a CO, she was still in charge.

It only took them about an hour to reach the middle of the Indian Ocean. Once the jet started closing in on the location of the ship, Rumlow started bringing up the details of the operation on the screen above the cockpit.

“The target is a mobile satellite launch platform,” he said, flicking through images on the screen. He pulled up one of the ship Fury had showed her, this time a three-dimensional rendering rather than a satellite image. “The Lumerian Star, that was sending up their last payload before pirates took over, ninety-three minutes ago.” Exactly when Fury said they would. Natasha rested her chin on her fist, eyes scouring the diagram of the ship. _Find the control room. Back up everything on the hard drive._

“Any demands?” Steve asked from next to her.

“Billion and a half.”

“Why so steep?”

“Because it’s SHIELD’s.”

Steve paused, letting that sink in. “So it’s not off course, it’s trespassing,” he sighed, and turned to her. Like she’d known about it.

He didn’t have to know she did.

“I’m sure they have a good reason,” she replied coolly. She glanced over at him, met with an irritated frown. He searched her eyes, trying to get information from her that she wasn’t going to give.

It annoyed her. She didn’t blame him for not trusting her - he knew enough about her not to - but considering how long they’d been partners, constantly convincing him she wasn’t one of the bad guys when something like this came up was exhausting. It felt a bit hypocritical considering there _were_ things she wasn’t telling him - that she wasn’t _allowed_ to tell him - but she still found herself wishing he’d give her the benefit of the doubt every once in a while.

“Yeah, well I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor-“

“Relax, it’s not that complicated,” she cut him off, shooting him an irritated, fake smile, attempting (almost painfully) not to roll her eyes. It shouldn’t bother her so much. He treated everyone at SHIELD the same way. _But I should be different_.

She immediately cut off her own thoughts, using the excuse that she was just tired.

“How many pirates?” he asked, finally looking past her and at Rumlow.

 _Twenty-five,_ she wanted to answer, mostly out of pettiness so all these idiot men were aware that she knew what the hell she was doing. But she wasn’t supposed to have that information. She let Rumlow answer instead.

“Twenty-five. Top mercs, led by this guy. George Batroc.” He pulled up a mugshot onto the screen and listed off all of the information SHIELD had on him. Natasha narrowed her eyes at the photo. The guy looked familiar. He was French, but that wasn’t a guarantee she hadn’t encountered him through the KGB. If she had, it wasn’t recent. Steve would have remembered. She’d have to look into it when she returned to HQ.

“Any hostages?” Steve asked.

“Uhh, mostly techs. One officer.” The way Rumlow answered the question seemed odd. It almost sounded like hesitation. “Jasper Sitwell.” He pulled up Sitwell’s photo, then quickly added, “They’re in the galley.”

Sitwell? Natasha worked with him often but he mostly remained either on the helicarrier or the Triskelion these days.

“What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” Steve muttered to himself, fiddling with the strap on his glove, and she glanced over at him again. She wasn’t sure if Rumlow had heard him, but considering how odd the situation was and Fury’s desperate request for discretion about this entire operation, she hoped he didn’t. “Alright, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you kill the engines and wait for instructions.”

She nodded absentmindedly, her chin still resting on her fist, taking in as much as she could from the screen in front of them while he directed the rest of the STRIKE team. The entire situation made her uneasy and she didn’t like being as in the dark as she was. She needed information.

They were just a couple miles out when she felt the jet shift in the air. Steve turned towards the back of the jet and she followed, Steve securing the team’s communication channel while she went to work stocking her belt and ensuring her widow’s bites were in working order. He seemed a bit cold, and she wondered if he picked up on her irritation before. Something about that bothered her.

“You doin’ anything fun Saturday night?” He was close enough to her that she could practically feel him relax a bit.

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so…” He shoved his earpiece into his ear, smirking at her. “No. Not really.”

Natasha glanced over at him with the intention of shooting back an equally smartass answer, but the crooked little grin he was giving her made her mind go suddenly - and uncharacteristically - blank. It threw her off and she allowed herself a half-second of panic before she played it off with a sarcastic smile and averted her gaze, busying herself with securing and re-securing and re-securing _again_ her bracelets.

“Coming up on the drop zone, Cap.”

He finally looked away, reaching over to punch the controls for the ramp of the jet, completely oblivious to how much she was scrambling to divert from her reaction.

“You know-“ She glanced back up at him, expertly cool. “-if you asked Kristin out from Statistics, she’d probably say yes.”

That was stating the obvious. The girl was practically drooling at him when they’d seen her in the Triskelion’s massive training center earlier that week. Granted, that wasn’t really an uncommon occurrence. Natasha found herself staring a little too long at him more often than she would ever admit to anyone, especially herself.

“That’s why I don’t ask,” he called over the roar of the engines and wind whipping by through the open ramp. He pulled on his helmet and glanced back over at her while he secured the strap. He reached over and pulled his shield up from where it had been leaning against the wall and secured it on his back.

“Too shy or too scared?” she replied with a raised eyebrow, very pointedly ignoring the slight twist in the pit of her stomach that was always there whenever he shot down anyone she tried to set him up with. _God, what the fuck is wrong with me?_

“Too busy,” he called back with a smirk, taking a few long steps towards the end of the ramp before taking a dramatic leap off of it. She rolled her eyes, desperately trying to control the involuntary upward twitch of her lips. She turned away from Rollins and Rumlow, who were standing behind her preparing to drop down to the ship and pulled on her parachute.

Rumlow jumped first, followed by a few more members of the STRIKE team before Natasha followed. As soon as she dropped she was plunged into darkness and near silence, the only sound meeting her ears from the wind rushing by. For some reason she’d always loved this part, the way her heart lurched in her chest as she plummeted towards the ground, then the freeing feeling of flying through the air once she pulled her parachute. Her job was nothing but chaos but this was almost relaxing. It was nice and cool this far up, the salty smell of the ocean surrounding her, pitch black in all directions besides the lit up ship below her.

Clint, who routinely scaled and leaped across tall buildings and preferred being as high as possible, absolutely detested jumping from planes and accused her of being an adrenaline junkie. At least, she’d reminded him once with a very pointed glare at Steve, she used a goddamn parachute.

As she glided closer to the water’s surface, she could see Steve making his way towards the front of the ship. He effectively knocked out one pirate after another, speeding efficiently and effortlessly across the deck. Right before she landed one of the thugs pointed a gun at him from behind and he froze, feigning surrender - she taught him that move, and she couldn’t help be both proud and a little smug - but before he could twist himself around and knock him to the ground, Rumlow lifted his gun and shot the guy in the shoulder as he landed.

Natasha’s boots hit the deck much closer to Steve than she wanted. Her gut twisted again and she silently cursed and busied herself with releasing her parachute. It fell with a soft thud behind them.

“What about the nurse that lives across the hall from you? She seems kinda nice.”

The second she mentioned her, regret flooded through her. _More lies. More secrets_. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t set him up with Sharon. Fury would be beyond pissed if she was the reason Sharon’s cover was blown. Besides, they couldn’t risk him finding out who she was. Sharon wasn’t really comfortable with anyone finding out she was related to Peggy Carter, and she especially didn’t want Steve to figure it out.

“Secure the engine room. Then find me a date.”

Natasha crossed behind him, grabbing ahold of the railing they were walking along to hop over it.

“I’m multi-tasking.”

She could have sworn she heard him snort out a laugh as she dropped down and away from him.

The engine room was easy enough to locate, especially with all of the additional memorization she’d done of the ship’s layout. She effectively took out five more of the pirates, using one as an anchor for her grappling hook to slide all the way down to land on a walkway a few levels up from the bottom. She stepped over the now corpse next to where she’d landed, leaping silently down two sets of steps.

“ _Target’s acquired_ ,” someone’s voice whispered over the comm link.

“ _STRIKE in position,_ ” Rumlow added softly.

“ _Natasha, what’s your status_?” That was Steve. She ignored him, sprinting down a small hallway towards the center of the engine room. She landed silently on another lower level, jumping up and rounding the corner towards the thug that had just walked by. “Status _, Natasha!_ ”

“Hang on!” she yelled angrily into her wrist, leaping out from her hiding spot.

She’d caught the attention of the thug who’d just walked by and he spun around, gearing up to attack. She was much too quick, launching herself onto his shoulders and bringing her widow’s bites to either side of his neck. The guy didn’t even have time to scream, just grunted and fell to the ground.

Another pirate appeared around the corner but she’d been ready for him, launching off of the first thug and rolling towards the newcomer. He whipped out his gun but before he had time to aim she jabbed him in the side and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm until it clattered to the ground. He yelled out and Natasha twisted herself to knee him in the ribs. He staggered backwards with a grunt and she used that split second to drop to the ground and spin again, this time knocking his feet out from underneath him with her outstretched leg. He fell backwards, landing hard on his ass. It slowed him down enough for her to turn to a third pirate just as he’d lunged at her. She took him down quite efficiently too, and when all three men were lying on the floor either unconscious or groaning in pain, she finally lifted her wrist.

“Engine room secure,” she panted. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the first thug apparently getting his second wind. He pushed himself onto his knees but before he could come at her she pulled a giant metal tool off of a work bench and smacked him right across the face. He fell to the ground with a thud.

With that taken care of, she left the mess of the engine room and recalled the layout of the ship. Between her and Steve they’d taken out all of the pirates besides the ones the rest of the STRIKE team were in the process of cornering. She took off down hall, sure enough finding the rest of the ship deserted.

“ _On my mark_ ,” Steve whispered lowly into the comm line. “ _Three…two…one…”_

She pushed through a door, sprinting down another hallway, leaping up a couple flights of stairs and taking a few more turns - effectively avoiding the galley, where the rest of the team would be leading hostages to safety very shortly - before finding the set of steps that would take her where she needed to go. She flew through another door to find a large room, filing cabinets lining the perimeter and a long row of computers in the center. As she expected, it was deserted.

“ _Hostages in route to extraction,_ ” came Rumlow’s voice in her ear. “ _Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap_.”

“Mind your own goddamn business, asshole,” Natasha muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. She crossed the room, picking a computer terminal at random, plugging in the drive and getting right to work.

“ _Hostiles are still in play_ ,” he added.

“No they’re not, you’re fuckin’ welcome.”

“ _Natasha_ ,” Steve breathed. It wasn’t forceful. Rumlow was a dick, but Steve seemed genuinely concerned, even if it was only the slight waver in his voice giving it away. It used to irritate the hell out of her, but she’d learned to accept it. She wouldn’t admit it, but it felt kinda nice having someone watching her back as much as Steve did. Clint did too, but he was too much like her that it wasn’t as obvious. _“Batroc’s still on the move. Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages._ ” She still didn’t reply. “ _Natasha!_ ”

A fresh wave of guilt flooded through her, and she swallowed thickly, forcing herself to ignore him. She kept typing, fingers flying across the keyboard as she copied everything in the system onto Fury’s drive. She tried to distract herself and make sense of what she was copying, but it all flew by too fast for her to catch anything. Whatever was stored on this ship was infinitely more than she’d seen any of the other times he’d sent her out.

Steve didn’t push again and she urged herself to move faster. She’d have to come up a reason for ignoring him. Rumlow would probably bitch about it, whine to Fury about insubordination or something, but she could handle idiots like him in her sleep. Steve was the one she was worried about. Everything could be great between them but the second she did something he didn’t approve of he got very crabby very fast. It drove her crazy at first but after a while the sinking feeling that she’d let him down and betrayed him started creeping into her thoughts.

She heard the faint sounds of a fight outside and stilled, just for a second. The sounds were getting closer so she resumed typing, picking up the pace even more. Suddenly there was a loud _bang_ , and something crashed through a door opposite from where she’d entered the room. It was Steve. _Shit_.

He was on top of someone - Batroc, probably - and punched him hard on the jaw before the man was out cold. He hadn’t noticed her.

“Well, this is awkward,” she drawled sarcastically. He glanced over at her, panting, brows furrowing. She met his gaze briefly, offering him an innocent smile before turning back to the screen in front of her.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, rising to his feet.

“Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into.” He didn’t find her amusing, if the hard look on his face was any indication. She glanced over at him when he started to approach her, checking that Batroc was indeed passed out before closing the distance between them.

“Rumlow needed your help. What the _hell_ are you doing here?” He was pissed. Her jaw tightened but she ignored him. He stood next to her and lifted his gaze up to the giant screen against the back wall of the room. “You’re saving SHIELD intel.” It wasn’t a question. She braved a quick glance up at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Whatever I can get my hands on-“

“Our mission was to _rescue hostages!_ ”

“No, that’s _your_ mission.” It came out a bit harsher than she’d intended, but the way he just stared at her, dumbfounded, was getting on her nerves. The backup hit a hundred percent so she yanked the drive out of the USB slot, slipped it into a secure pocket on her belt, and turned to him. “And you’ve done it beautifully,” she added with a smirk.

She tried to brush past him but he grabbed her arm, forcing her to turn towards him. They usually worked seamlessly as partners, each leading when the mission called for it and splitting the responsibility equally. When it was just the two of them, they were a well-oiled machine. Even when she took charge without his permission she usually respected and trusted her decision enough to let it go. But it was clear by the way he was glaring at her, a deep crease between his brows, that he wasn’t going to this time.

“You just jeopardized this _whole_ operation,” he seethed, hand tightening around her arm. Her mind - _the traitor_ \- brought to her attention how close he was, and suddenly it was the only thing she could focus on. His breath on her nose, the feeling of his strong fingertips digging into her forearm, a brief whiff of his aftershave, still prominent from earlier. She wasn’t sure why that was the one thing she always picked up on whenever he was close enough to her. His eyes sparkled, bluer than normal, reflecting the lights of the computer screens surrounding them. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest and she desperately hoped he couldn’t hear it, or feel her pulse quicken in her veins where he was holding to her tightly.

“I think that’s over-stating things,” she said, rolling her eyes, after what felt like several minutes but was probably about a second.

He opened his mouth to argue but before he got the chance, they heard movement behind them. Steve spun around just in time for Batroc to come to. He leapt to his feet and Steve instinctively shoved Natasha backwards as a grenade came flying towards them. He knocked it out of the way, spinning on his heels and reaching out for her. As soon as he had a good hold on her he leapt on top of one of the computer terminals, using the momentum to hop over another identical row. They moved together, perfectly in-sync, having done this a thousand times. Natasha whipped her gun out from its holster and shot through the window of a small office to break it so they didn’t have to. He flung his shield out in front of them to protect her from the glass and launched the two of them through the window just as the control room exploded behind them.

Heat washed over them as they flew into the next room and crashed to the floor. Natasha landed hard on her shoulder, grunting at the impact. Her thigh slammed against something hard on the floor; a giant piece of glass, it looked like. It sliced through her suit and into her skin, stinging harshly. It wasn’t deep, but _damn, it hurt._ She immediately rolled onto her back and used her good leg to push herself backwards so it was against the wall. Glass fell on top of her and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain throbbing up her leg and spreading across her hip. Steve also pushed himself against the wall of the office, briefly lifting himself up to check the damage they’d just narrowly avoided.

“Okay,” she panted, once he’d fallen back to sit on the floor. She braved a glance over at him. “That one’s on me.”

She’d meant it to be a joke, a deflection, making light of something that was _technically_ not her fault, but that she couldn’t fully explain to him. He didn’t find it remotely funny.

“You’re damn right,” he hissed, pushing himself aggressively off the floor and storming out.

God, he was _pissed_.

“ _Shit_ ,” she breathed, leaning her head back against the wall. She closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. The tightness in her chest - a culmination of adrenaline and guilt and anger at Fury for making her lie to him and the sinking feeling caused by knowing she was the reason he was so upset - suddenly hurt more than the giant gash in her leg. She pushed herself to her feet, carefully testing her right leg to make sure she could put weight on it. It ached fiercely but she’d had worse. She’d live.

She tried her damndest not to limp after Steve, jaw clenching against the pain in her leg but making it easily back to the deck. The hostages were already lifted to a second quinjet that had been waiting a few minutes out from their own. Steve barely even looked at her, just a brief glance down at her thigh when he realized she was favoring it. No one said a thing when they’d both emerged from an explosion, Rumlow just rolling his eyes and calling for extraction.

The ride back to the Triskelion was quiet. Steve practically seethed the entire time. The rest of the STRIKE team looked almost terrified of him and gravitated towards cockpit. Finally he grabbed a first aid kit and knelt down next to her where she’d collapsed on the floor against the wall, injured leg stretched in front of her with a bloody towel pressed against it, other bent tightly up against her chest.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, the tension still very present in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she replied shortly. “And I can do that myself.” His jaw tightened and she thought he was going get up and walk away again, but he didn’t. Instead he popped open the kit and reached over, forcing her hand away from her wound. He wordlessly got to work cleaning and stitching it up. She stared straight ahead the entire time, muscles tense. Maybe it was petty of her, but she wanted him to know she was ignoring him just as much as he was ignoring her. He seemed to be doing the exact same thing.

She didn’t thank him when he’d finished, instead adjusting her body away from him just enough for him to get the hint. She thought she saw him roll his eyes before he stood, turned away, and avoided her for the rest of the trip.

Once they’d arrived back in DC they were ushered upstairs into a conference room to debrief with Maria Hill. When she asked what the hell happened Steve explained, leaving out exactly _why_ they’d been in the control room, never mentioning her by name. However, when he mentioned that Natasha had been in the room with him and the explosion was how she’d been injured, Rumlow rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, something about how Natasha couldn’t submit to Steve being in charge. Natasha glared at him.

“You know we both have enhanced hearing, right?” she snapped. “We can hear all your shitty commentary.”

“Natasha,” Steve warned, but he’d clearly heard it too.

Technically, Rumlow was right. Steve _was_ her CO, regardless of seniority or whether they were the same clearance level. But they were partners and he’d never once betrayed that, both of them leading the team together depending on the op. She knew it bothered him to no end that the STRIKE team constantly undermined her authority, even if she was still above them in the chain of command.

“Batroc _escaped_ ,” Rumlow replied, looking straight at Natasha, ignoring Steve. “He escaped a fucking ship in the middle of the ocean. How the hell does that happen?”

“Maybe he teleported,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes. He seemed to be ignoring the fact that Batroc had run clear across the middle deck of the ship, where they’d all been loading the hostages, and somehow he’d vanished.

“You were supposed to help us with the hostages, Romanoff,” Rollins cut in. “Clear the engine room and wait for instructions. Those were your orders. Which you didn’t fucking follow.”

“Hey-“ Steve started, but Rumlow deliberately turned away from him to glare at Natasha.

“Just because Cap seems to think you’re a valuable asset to this team doesn’t mean-“

“Hey-!“ Maria called, but it was in vain. Natasha was practically vibrating with anger, her hands curled in fists around armrests on the chair she’d been sitting in.

“Fuck off, Rumlow,” she spat out.

“That’s _enough!”_ Steve’s voice echoed through the room. Natasha stood up, her chair shooting out from beneath her and rolling backwards into the wall. “Natasha-“

She brushed past him and into the hall, ignoring him and the fresh pain shooting through her thigh. Then she stormed down the hall towards the elevator, demanding it take her up to Fury’s office.

“I hear that went well,” he said flatly as she stormed into the room. He’d been staring out the window, but swiveled in his chair to face her. She approached his desk and slammed the flash drive down on top of it.

“I’m done,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I don’t care what you’re looking for, or why you have me sneaking around, or your trust issues. I’m not lying to him anymore.”

“You didn’t _lie_ to him, Agent Romanoff.”

 _He’s your boss_ , she reminded herself, her fists clenching at her sides.

“ _Nick_.” She huffed angrily to cover up how much it sounded like she was pleading with him. Maybe she was. “He’s my partner. I can’t keep stuff like this from him. You know damn well you wouldn’t have made me do this to Barton.” Fury regarded her evenly. The fact that he didn’t argue was enough of an agreement as she was going to get. That calmed her down enough to take a deep breath before continuing. “I know my place. You _know_ I do. But you wanted this relationship to work, you wanted Rogers to trust me. And he doesn’t.” She hated herself for the tiny crack in her voice. _Shit_. “I need him to trust me or we’ll never work as well together as Clint and I did. And you know that.”

“I do,” Fury said finally.

“I’ll do my job and I won’t ask questions. But from now on I’m not shutting him out. I run ops with Rogers or I don’t do them at all.”

Fury narrowed his eyes at her. She knew he could discipline her for this, for barging into his office making demands and refusing to do her job unless they were met. But she also knew he respected her enough to consider what she was saying and why she was so upset.

“Understood, Agent Romanoff,” he said finally, with a simple nod.

“Thank you,” she replied. Suddenly she felt all riled up for no reason. Like an idiot. “Now, if you don’t mind, Sir, it’s my day off. I’m going home.”

If she was anyone else, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight upwards twitch of his lips into what was considered a smile. “Of course.”

Natasha spun around, but paused before pulling open the door.

“By the way, Brock Rumlow deserves to be suspended,” she stated, hand resting on the door handle.

“On what grounds?” Fury asked behind her. She glanced around and looked him straight in the eye.

“Insubordination. He’s a dick.”

She pulled the door open and she could have sworn she heard a chuckle as the door swung closed.

Natasha turned down the hall and was about to round the corner back towards the elevator when she almost ran right into Steve. He stopped, staring at her for a few seconds. He glanced in the direction of Fury’s office, then back at her.

“Stay here.” It was an order, but not a malicious one.

“Can I at least go change?” She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. He narrowed his eyes at her, considering.

“Locker room. Ten minutes.”

“Thank you, _Captain._ ”

He ignored her sarcastic reply, brushed past her, and stormed into Fury’s office. She continued down the hall to the elevator, desperately hoping the STRIKE’s locker room would be empty.

It was. _Thank god_. If she saw Rumlow right now he’d probably end up with a knee to the balls before he got a chance to open his mouth. Then she’d definitely get in trouble.

_Worth it._

She peeled off her suit, ripped and covered in ash and blood, and threw it against a wall of lockers out of frustration. She wiped herself down - good enough until she could get home and wash this shit day off of her in the shower - and redressed in her jeans, black tank top and leather jacket. She’d tossed her ruined suit in the trash, shoved the rest of her gear in her duffle bag, and pulled on her boots by the time Steve pushed open the door.

He stopped when he saw her, as if he wasn’t actually expecting her to stay. She just raised an eyebrow at him - he needed to know exactly how much she didn’t want to be here - and leaned back against her locker, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. He didn’t say anything at first, just averted his eyes and turned to his own locker.

They hadn’t been at each other’s throats like this in over a year, not since they started working together. Except now it was different, because they weren’t being forced into a partnership neither of them wanted. Now they were friends, now she cared about him and what he thought of her. Now she felt awful when she pissed him off and happy when they got along and-

 _Fuck_.

“If you’re going to yell at me, can you hurry up? It’s supposed to be my day off.”

Steve had just pulled his locker open, but he slammed it shut again, rattling the entire row of them, then finally turned to face her.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” he snapped. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him but felt herself shrink away from him. She didn’t answer, so he continued. “How long has Fury been doing this? Giving you orders, making you go behind me like that?”

“That’s classified,” she shot back. He let out a hard breath that was practically a growl. She sighed irritably. “Just today. And trust me, he knows I wasn’t happy about it.” Judging by how angry he was when he’d stormed up to Fury’s office not long ago, she assumed he’d gotten an earful from Steve too.

“You can’t _do_ that. You can’t shut me out like that.”

“I had orders.”

“I’m your commanding officer. I give you orders.”

The second he said it he froze, eyes widening just slightly. Natasha felt a fresh wave of anger flare up inside her and she pushed herself upright, taking a few steps towards him. He practically shrank away from her.  
“Are you _really_ going to pull rank on me, Rogers?” she seethed. He swallowed hard, but found his confidence and stepped back towards her again.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he replied lowly.

“Enlighten me.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she suddenly realized she wasn’t done. “Fury’s above you too, in case you forgot. Just because you’re not technically employed by SHIELD doesn’t mean you can flat out disobey a direct order.”

“Natasha-“

She didn’t let him finish. “He specifically told me not to tell you. I don’t know why, it’s not my place to ask questions. Just like I don’t question you and you don’t question me. Unless that’s a problem.”

“It’s not-“

“I’ll tell you again what I told you six months ago. Barton is cleared for active duty. I could request a transfer and leave you to lead your team of assholes, since I’m clearly just an _inconvenience_ -“

“Natasha, _stop_.” She finally did, not realizing how fast her heart was racing in her chest, how quickly she was taking one breath after another. She tensed, realizing how far she’d let her irritation and exhaustion take her. And then her brain - her _stupid fucking brain_ \- realized how close he was to her, like he’d been on the Lumerian Star. The only difference was this time he wasn’t holding her in place while he fumed at her. “I’m mad at Fury, not you,” he said quickly, before she had the chance to keep going. “But you can’t hide things like this from me. I can’t effectively do my job if I can’t trust my team to do theirs. We got lucky today but that could have gone _so_ much worse.”

Of course he didn’t trust her. Why would he? She’d been lying to him for weeks, keeping things - _important_ things - from him since the day he became her partner. He had no reason to. She forced herself to step back, out of his space.

“And I don’t want you to _transfer_ ,” he added incredulously. He’d said the same thing months ago, when she assumed she’d be going back to working exclusively with Clint again. “I mean, christ, if almost getting blown up was all it took we wouldn’t have made it past the Battle of New York.” He was trying to make a joke, a dumb one, to lighten the mood. _Typical_. Had she been in the mood, she would have rolled her eyes and told him he was an idiot. Instead she turned away and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder. “Rumlow and Rollins are assholes.”

She finally huffed out a laugh, as humorless as it may have been.

“Finally, we agree on something,” she muttered. She brushed past him towards the door. “I’m going home. I’ll see you Monday.”


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Natasha did when she got home was punch the wall.

It dented the drywall, dust falling to the floor, but considering SHIELD owned her apartment and she wasn’t too thrilled with them at the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to give a shit. It also _fucking hurt_.

Liho padded out from the bedroom where she’d probably been fast asleep. She seemed unbothered by the noise, staring blankly at Natasha with sleepy yellow eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Natasha said. Liho yawned and started licking her paw in response.

Natasha sighed, dropping her duffel bag to the floor and turn into the kitchen. Liho crossed the living room, hopping up on the island to watch her pull the freezer open, pull out a bottle of vodka, and take a long, hard gulp.

“Don’t judge me, it’s past noon,” she said defensively, but still reached over and scratched behind her ears. Liho closed her eyes and immediately started purring, leaning into Natasha’s hand. She took another long drink - not that it would have any kind of effect on her - before putting the bottle back in the freezer and retreating towards the bathroom for her long awaited shower.

The giant cut on her leg stung when she pulled her skinny jeans down, and again when it hit the hot water. She’d been hurt much, _much_ worse in the past, but for some reason this one bothered her more than most. She supposed it had something to do with the explosion (her fault), with pissing Steve off (also her fault), and just the overall shittiness of the day (Fury’s fault, _thankyouverymuch_ ).

Once she’d stood under the scalding hot spray for as long as her skin could handle, she dressed in just a sports bra and a pair of running shorts that wouldn’t irritate her injury. She forced herself to be annoyed with Steve for the stitches, even if he didn’t technically know a cut this shallow would probably be healed by morning. They’d dissolve in about a week, but the knockoff serum in her veins would heal it too soon and then it would just be a mess. She returned to the bathroom with a couple painkillers and the bottle of vodka from her freezer and took several more shots with the pills before going at the closed wound with a pair of sterilized scissors.

It burned like a bitch, but once she’d finished, cleaned it up and covered it with fresh bandages, the amount of vodka she’d ingested was finally starting to numb the pain a little. She left everything sitting on the counter, walked through her bedroom, and collapsed on the couch. She turned the TV on, flipping channels to distract herself even though she had no intention of watching it. Liho hopped on top of her, making herself comfortable stretched across her stomach, and that’s how she fell asleep, remote falling to the floor and her hand buried in a mass of purring black fur.

She dreamt; not nightmares, but still vivid swirls of nothing and everything all at the same time. She saw Steve’s face, inches away and beyond pissed at her for something or other. He was yelling at her. It was loud and shrill, completely unintelligible.

Natasha jerked awake, Liho gone and shadows creeping in through the window. _Jesus, how long was I passed out?_ She felt groggy and realized she probably shouldn’t have taken painkillers with vodka. _Whoops_. It took her a few fuzzy seconds to realize her phone ringing was what had woken her up.

She groaned but forced herself up off the couch. The pain pills (and alcohol) had worn off in her sleep, but the sharp pain in her thigh had thankfully been reduced to a dull throbbing. Her phone had stopped ringing by the time she’d crossed the room and reached her duffel bag. When she pulled it out and squinted at the brightness of the screen, dread started creeping up on her when she saw she had two missed calls from Steve and three from Maria.

After what happened earlier, Steve wouldn’t bother her. He’d give her time to cool off. And Maria’s calls were always work-related, but she never called repetitively like this. She’d leave a short message - _This is Hill. Call me back._ \- and wait for Natasha to get in contact with her.

Natasha’s phone screamed again and Maria’s name popped up, her fourth call in the last ten minutes. A text message from Steve popped up at the same time. _Please answer me._ She swiped it away, her heart thudding hard in her chest as she answered Maria.

“Hello?”

“Holy shit, where have you been!?” Natasha hesitated in answering - Maria never swore, unless she was drunk, which was just as rare - but she continued before Natasha could speak. “Nick’s been shot.”

Natasha felt every single muscle in her body go completely still, except for her hand, which had to grip her phone tighter before it slipped out of it and fell to the floor.

“He…what?”

“We’re at the hospital. They’re operating. They don’t…I don’t know anything else. I-“

“I’ll be right there.”

She hung up before Maria could even tell her which hospital they were at. She scrambled to her bedroom, yanking clothes out of her closet and texting her for the location in between pulling on a clean pair of jeans, a tank top, and jacket. She barely remembered to feed the cat before she was racing out the door.

If it wasn’t Friday night in a busy part of town, she could have made it to the hospital in under five minutes. However, she happened to get stuck at every stoplight and behind every single slow driver, and the minutes seemed to drag on and on. In reality, she pulled up in front of the ER about ten minutes after hanging up with Maria, and left her car in the middle of the road with the keys still in the ignition.

“Ma’am-!” the valet attendant cried after her, completely stressed by the volume of SHIELD emergency vehicles that had probably swarmed him out of nowhere. She slowed only to give him her name before continuing into the hospital. She flashed her SHIELD ID and the nurse at the front station opened the door for her. Just behind it she saw Jasper Sitwell, pacing and wringing his hands nervously. He took one look at her and his eyes widened like he was surprised to see her.

“Agent Romanoff,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re-“

“Where is he?” she demanded. She didn’t have time for his bullshit right now, and it irritated her. _We saved your life today_ , she thought bitterly. S _top being an idiot_. Logically it had nothing to do with how he was acting - Nick was as much his boss as hers - but logic wasn’t something very present in her mind right now.

“Down the hall. To the right. Hill and-“

She didn’t wait to hear the rest and took off in the direction he’d indicated. When she burst into the room, the first thing she saw was Steve. He was standing in front of a giant window that gave them a view into the operating room. She had a feeling if they weren’t SHIELD, there was no way in hell they’d be allowed in here, since it appeared to be some sort of operating theater reserved only for interns and other surgeons. Steve was leaning against the sill of the window, Maria off to the side speaking lowly into her phone. She shot her a worried glance before Natasha practically ran past her, stopping next to Steve in front of the window.

Nick was lying lifelessly on the table on the other side of the glass, and she could have sworn her heart stopped beating,

“Is he gonna make it?” In any other situation she’d have been horrified with how her voice shook, even if Steve was the only one to notice it.

“I don’t know.”

She watched as they operated, heart hammering wildly in her chest. There was blood _everywhere_ , a tube down his throat, the room swarming with surgeons and doctors. She’d seen Nick injured before, but never seen him so weak. So _lifeless_.

“Tell me about the shooter,” she said suddenly, the words leaving her mouth before she’d formed a comprehensible thought to say them. She needed details. Intel. A mission objective.

“He’s fast. Strong.” Steve paused and let out an exhausted, frustrated sigh. He glanced down, taking a few seconds before adding, “Had a metal arm.”

 _No._

Panic rose in her chest and she suddenly felt dizzy. _Shit. Shit!_ It couldn’t be him. It had been five years since she’d seen or heard from him, and besides, why now? If his handlers had wanted Fury dead, they could have killed him ages ago. And if he was back, if they’d sent him to kill the head of SHIELD…

This was bad. So, so bad.

Steve had fought him. He’d been close enough to see his arm, but not close enough to look him in the eyes, see his face. He still didn’t know. If he did, he wouldn’t be this calm.

She had to tell him.

Maria ended her phone call and stepped up next to her.

“Ballistics?” Natasha asked. As if she didn’t know, as if there was any way it wasn’t him. _It can’t be him_.

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable.” Maria’s voice was somehow smooth and unwavering. Natasha was trained to a ruthless, emotionless machine, and somehow Maria Hill had always been admirably more composed in any given situation.

“Soviet-made?”

She saw Maria shoot her a sideways glance through the reflection of the glass window in front of them. _Shit._

“Yeah.”

Before she could say anything more, something started beeping on the other side of the glass. She forgot about the Winter Soldier - _about James_ \- and refocused on Nick. The doctors suddenly jumped to action, rushing around, scrambling for a crash cart.

“Don’t do this to me, Nick…” she breathed. She watched helplessly as they shocked him with a defibrillator, and she barely registered Steve moving next to her. He leaned back half a step, and although his eyes stayed forward, mouth dropped open in horror, she felt him reach for her and brush his hand lightly against hers. They shocked him again, everyone glancing hopefully over at the monitor. Steve’s hand had already dropped back to his side, but she suddenly had the urge to reach for him, to grab it and squeeze it in her own, to somehow feel grounded when she felt like she was plummeting from the air without a parachute. “No…no…don’t do this to me…”

She muttered it over and over again, trying to keep her breathing steady, but her heart was racing so fast it was starting to get away from her. Everyone in the room on the other side of the glass had slowed, and she wanted to scream at them. _What the fuck are you doing? He’s dying! Stop standing around!_

Steve turned and walked away, leaving her suddenly feeling incredibly alone. Maria sniffled next to her and Natasha tried to force herself to breathe, blinking profusely, trying to hold back her own tears. She’d be _damned_ if Nick Fury was going to be the reason she cried at all, let alone in public, _the bastard._

She didn’t know how long she stood there, numb, dizzy, watching as the doctors started unhooking Nick from all the wires and machines that had been attached to him. She reached up and rested her hands against the ledge, no longer threatened by tears but instead by the nausea brewing in the pit of her stomach. Sitwell and Rumlow had left the room almost immediately, followed closely by Maria. Maria who was focused, who used her job to anchor her, who was probably trying to throw herself into working on whatever arrangements needed to be made to keep herself held together.

Once they were alone, Steve reproached her. He hesitated, but still rested his hand on top of hers. The second his warm skin curled around hers, she pulled it out from underneath him, instead wrapping it tightly around his wrist. He tensed a little at the sudden (and uncharacteristic, she knew) move, but then relaxed, letting her lean against him.

He didn’t ask if she was okay. He knew she wasn’t and that she wouldn’t tell him anyway.

They stood there, silently, until long after they’d covered Nick and rolled him away. Natasha couldn’t bring herself to move, could barely bring herself to breathe. She probably wouldn’t even be able to stand if she didn’t have Steve next to her to hold on to.

The door opened, and Maria reentered the room. She told them the hospital needed them to leave. They had other patients, other dying people. Bigger problems than Nick Fury getting shot and bleeding out on the operating table. Steve glanced over at Natasha, who finally dragged her eyes away from the empty operating room. There was a janitor in there now, mopping up the blood on the floor. Nick’s blood. Blood from the bullets of her ex and Steve Rogers dead best friend.

_This cannot be happening._

Natasha let go of Steve’s arm as she turned to follow Maria out the room, but she felt his fingers brushing the small of her back. If he was anyone else she’d have broken every bone in his hand by now. But she let him do it, partially because she knew he just wanted to be useful, and partially because she needed him to.

Maria led them into a waiting room, the door flanked by SHIELD security guards. Rumlow, Sitwell, and Rollins were all inside, and the second they walked through the door, all three of them immediately started drilling Steve on what had happened. She finally pulled herself away from him, collapsing on a chair. She briefly entertained the idea that she needed to call Clint, and maybe Coulson (who the rest of the room besides maybe Maria didn’t know was even still alive), but all she could do was sit there, staring at the flecks in the otherwise sterile white floor.

“He had to have told you something,” Sitwell said to Steve. Sitwell who, less than an hour ago, looked nervous as hell and like he hadn’t expected any of them to show up. _Why the hell is he even here?_ Natasha thought bitterly, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. _Why are any of them here? They don’t give a shit._

“I _don’t know.”_ Steve let out a frustrated sigh. “He just…showed up at my apartment. Didn’t say what he wanted.” Natasha lifted her head and frowned at him from across the room. His voice was off. It wasn’t shaking, or wavering, but it wasn’t…right. He may have been able to get away with the exhausted and flustered act with everyone else, but not her. His eyes flitted over to hers, and something flashed through them. Uncertainty.

He was lying to them.

But _why?_ Steve Rogers didn’t lie. Nick Fury did, however, and he lied often. Did Nick tell him to? Why would he have him lie about something like this? Steve had gone in to talk to Fury after that disaster of a debrief. How long had she waited for him? Probably a good half hour, if she had to guess. What the hell did they talk about?

_Why the hell is Sitwell here?_

The man had been held hostage less than twelve hours ago. Not that she gave a shit about him, but she was pretty sure the SHIELD employees they’d gotten off of the Lumerian Star earlier that day had gone home immediately, long before she did, Sitwell included. Natasha lived within walking distance of the hospital, but somehow he’d gotten there before her, and regardless of her delayed response Sitwell lived outside the city. At least an hour depending on traffic. The STRIKE team could have easily still been at the Triskelion, which wasn’t much farther than her apartment. Plus, someone just assassinated the head of SHIELD. It made sense why they were there. Nick has been in Steve’s apartment, it made sense why he was there and why she’d ran past Sharon Carter in the waiting room. Maria was…well, Maria, so it made sense why she was there.

It made _no_ sense why Sitwell was there, and less so why he was suddenly interrogating Steve not thirty minutes after Nick Fury’s death.

Steve was flustered, but he still told them the same thing over and over again. They eventually gave up and all three of them left the room to meet up with the rest of the STRIKE team where they were standing guard down the hall. Steve fell into a chair two down from her, averting his gaze when she’d narrowed her eyes at him, desperately trying to put the pieces together.

Fury knew about a hostage situation before it happened. He made her lie to her partner in order to retrieve unknown intel. Sitwell kept showing up where he shouldn’t be. Nick was shot in Steve’s apartment. Shot by James, who’d suddenly reappeared (was he still controlled by the Russians? She had no idea) after five years of silence. And Steve was lying about all of it.

_What the hell is going on?_

A nurse suddenly stuck her head in the door, telling them if they wanted to say goodbye, they’d need to do it now. It yanked Natasha out of her head, reminding her of the looming issue: Nick Fury was dead.

She stood, wordlessly following Maria and Steve from the room and down a few hallways. Something in the back of her mind told her she needed to be more aware of her surroundings, pay more attention, but her brain felt so muddled with grief and confusion and anger that she allowed herself to float by in a daze until she was suddenly staring down at Nick’s body in front of her.

She could sense Maria and Steve in the back of the room watching her, but out of view of the STRIKE team, she finally focused on Nick and let her eyes fill up with tears. She felt numb, eyes fixated on the lifeless body of the man who had saved her life.

Fifteen years ago, Fury had ordered Clint to kill her. He didn’t have to let her live when Barton decided to break from the mission and bring her back to SHIELD instead. He could have had her executed on the spot. He could have let her rot away in a cell, or be tortured for information on the Red Room. Had she escaped SHIELD’s custody, she was facing an even worse fate back in Russia. Ivan would have killed her himself, just for being stupid and reckless enough to get caught. The only good option was the mercy Nick had shown her, allowing her to use her talents to fight for the good guys instead.

“Natasha.”

She hadn’t heard Steve approach her. She’d let him hang around all night, keeping an eye on her like she knew he would whether or not she told him to stop. She let him feel like he was useful (and wouldn’t admit that he had been), but now all she wanted was to know was what he knew. What he wasn’t telling her.

Natasha placed a hand on Nick’s head gently, saying her own goodbye in her head, then immediately turned around and brushed past Steve out of the room. She turned the corner, only turning to face him after he called her name a second time. He looked confused. It was pissing her off.

“Why was Fury in your apartment?” she demanded. He just shrugged. He was nervous, and he had tells left and right. The way he glanced off to the side, the way he shook his head, the way he let out half a breath that was probably supposed to be a sigh, the way he dropped his mouth open, playing dumb, like she wasn’t the one who _taught_ him how to lie.

“I dunno,” he breathed unconvincingly. He was squirming. He knew he couldn’t lie to her as well as he could lie to the idiots on the STRIKE team.

“Cap,” Rumlow called behind him. Steve turned to him briefly and nodded. He barely met the other man’s eyes, his eyes flicking down to his SHIELD badge hanging off of his jacket and pistol on his hip. “They want you back at SHIELD.”

“Yeah, gimme a second.” He turned back to Natasha.

“They want you now.”

This time, Steve looked back at him and gave him a hard look.

“ _Okay,”_ he replied forcefully.

Rumlow let his glare linger a few seconds too long before he turned and retreated back down the hall where the rest of the STRIKE team was waiting.Natasha hadn’t let her gaze leave him during the entire exchange, trying to read him. Steve had never liked Rumlow, had always been a little short with him. But this was different. Now he seemed genuinely angry. But _why?_

When Steve turned back to meet Natasha’s gaze, she was still watching him. He frowned a bit, but she saw his jaw tense up as he tried a little too hard to maintain eye contact. She smirked at him.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

She left him with one last glare - one that may have been a bit too much of her own personal frustration - and spun on her heel, leaving him in the middle of the hallway.

When she’d made it far enough down the hall she dared a quick look back at him; he was glancing around, and his eyes fell on the open vending machine they’d been standing next to. She stopped and turned into a corner where she could watch him unnoticed by both him and the STRIKE team down the hall, and saw him throw a few quick looks behind his shoulders to make sure no one was watching before he tapped the man stocking the machine on the shoulder.

She couldn’t hear what he said, but the man seemed to recognize him and nodded. Steve offered him a (very obvious) fake smile and reached into his pocket, pulling out a dollar bill along with something else he discretely slipped into his jacket sleeve. Someone else - someone that wasn’t her - would have missed it. She watched him reach into the machine, checking over his shoulder one last time before pulling out a pack of bubblegum, swapping it out for whatever was up his sleeve before walking away. He unwrapped a piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth before inconspicuously tossing the rest of the pack into a trash bin on his way out.

Natasha rolled her eyes. _Jesus, have I taught him nothing?_ She checked around her - they were still in the ER, so everyone was busy and not paying the slightest bit of attention to her - and ducked into a small family waiting room down the hall. She waited until the remaining SHIELD agents had cleared out, and until the man had finished his job and closed the vending machine. When the coast was clear she finally went back out into the hall and approached the machine. She found the gum Steve had purchased and noticed a tiny sliver of something silver behind a few packs of them. She pulled out the cash she had in her back pocket and inserted the bills, pressing the button three times to bring the silver object to the front.

She was about to press the button again until she realized what it was and froze. She’d handed Fury that exact flash drive just hours ago. She didn’t have a clue what was on it, wasn’t able to decipher it as it was copying. All she knew was that whatever it was, Steve Rogers probably didn’t need to have it.

Natasha didn’t sleep that night. Even after she took some more pain medication for the throbbing that had again flared up in her thigh - the damn thing was half healed already but still hurt like a bitch - she was wide awake, running through everything she knew over and over again in her head, desperately trying to make sense of it.

Nick is dead. James killed him. Steve is lying about it. Nick is dead. He knew about a hostage situation before it happened. He made her lie to Steve. Rumlow was a dick. Relevant? Sitwell keeps showing up where he’s not supposed to. James is back. He killed Nick. James killed Nick. Nick is dead. _Nick is dead._

She finished the bottle vodka she’d left on the bathroom counter. It didn’t make her feel a damn thing.

She’d passed out for maybe an hour or two at some point, restless, not falling into deep deep enough sleep to even dream. Then she finally gave up, deciding she needed to start by figuring out what the hell Steve was trying so hard to keep from everyone. She’d briefly run into Sharon Carter on the way out of the hospital, but she hadn’t told her anything new. Sharon had heard the gunshots from next door, and by the time she saw anything Steve was jumping out of the window to follow James.

Could that be what he was lying about? Did he know who he was?

No way. If he’d have found out James was alive he’d have been a complete mess.

It was Saturday, but with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, she knew he’d be working. She pulled out her laptop and logged onto SHIELD’s interface, easily and securely maneuvering her way into the system to avoid being detected by their top-of-the-line security software.

It was designed by Stark. He’d be pissed if he knew how easily she could break through it.

From there she logged into Steve’s account (did no one tell him how to pick a secure password? _He works for an intelligence agency for god’s sake_ ) to look up his schedule. Sure enough he was already there, probably still in his meeting with Alexander Pierce. Something about that made her feel uneasy, but she supposed the man had known Nick quite well and would want to speak to the last one to see him alive. Afterwards he was being called in for more questioning. She was just debating whether or not she’d be able to get into his apartment - seeing as it was a crime scene - when a red alert popped up across the screen.

Steve Rogers was resisting arrest and was a priority one fugitive from SHIELD. Suspected of withholding information on murder of Director Nick Fury.

Her blood ran cold in her veins.

“What the hell?” she muttered, unsure for a moment what to do. She finally decided on opening the memo, which seemed to have been sent to every single SHIELD agent currently stationed in DC and New York. They were shutting down the airports and every traffic light near the Triskelion, and scanning whatever digital sources they had to track him down. The manhunt was authorized by Alexander Pierce and being supervised by Jasper Sitwell.

 _Shit_.

She had to find him. He was going to get his ass caught. But SHIELD knew the two of them were close; they were partners, they trained and led the team together, and they were both Avengers. Even if she didn’t go after him, they would come find her. It wasn’t a secret she was Fury’s best agent. She, Clint, and Maria would be next if they couldn’t find Steve. The smart thing would be to disappear, go underground for a while, let this blow over.

She allowed herself approximately three seconds to consider, just to say she’d done it.

She tried to think like Steve, tried to figure out where he’d go next. He had to know SHIELD was after him, and the first thing he’d want to do is make sure whatever Fury had told him to lie about stayed secure. The hospital wasn’t that far from the Triskelion...would he risk that?

He was Steve Rogers. Of course he would.

With a plan set, she jumped up from the couch and dressed, hoping she was right about her assumption. There wasn’t much time, but she had to prepare for the worst. SHIELD owned her apartment, so if they decided to come looking for her, they would no doubt go there first. She scrambled around the unit, packing as if she wasn’t planning on coming back: weapons, burner phones, cash, valuables. Her laptop. A change of clothes, just in case. A small bottle of her favorite vodka, also just in case (t was imported directly from Russia, and it was expensive. Priorities). She also found some old stuff of Clint’s, most of it from an undercover op they’d done together once, and packed that too. She was going to have to make Steve blend in and he absolutely did _not_ walking around in t-shirts three sizes too small.

She tried to ignore Liho, who was watching her curiously. She’d have to leave her with the neighbor - the retired old lady downstairs loved taking her, so Natasha knew she wouldn’t mind - until she could come back for her. _Stupid cat_ , she thought. _You just_ had _to keep coming back, didn’t you?_

The first time the stray cat who’d claimed her balcony had curled up in her lap uninvited, Natasha knew she was screwed. She hadn’t even noticed the transition from leaving food outside for it so it didn’t starve to letting it come inside and take over the apartment. Now she’d invested in a few toys, giant bags of litter and food, and an expensive water filter and food dish so that she’d be okay if Natasha had to suddenly leave for a few days.

She wouldn’t admit to being attached. Absolutely _would not_.

SHIELD hadn’t gotten too far sweeping the streets by the time she left for the hospital. She was able to sweep under the radar and park in a parking garage, then sneak into the ER with the morning crowd without being noticed. The hallway they’d been in last night was relatively deserted, except for a few nurses bustling back and forth, too concerned about their job to wonder why a civilian with a backpack slung over her shoulder was wandering the halls.

Natasha had no way of knowing if Steve had come or not yet. She’d been keeping a look out for him as she slipped through the halls of the ER but hadn’t seen him.

There was a small waiting room across the hall from the vending machine so she ducked inside to wait. The lights were off and the door had been almost closed so she left it that way, concealing herself in the shadows with a view of the hallway through the blinds. There was still gum in her jeans pocket from the night before - she fully planned on reminding Steve he owed her $3 - so she pulled out a piece and popped it in her mouth while she waited. It tasted gross and generic but the movement helped her focus. If he didn’t show up, she’d have to find a way to escape the hospital before SHIELD’s search reached this area of the city, then track him down some other way. For the time being, she let herself be confident she knew him well enough.

Turns out, she did.

A hooded figure walked by the door of the waiting room and stopped in front of the vending machine: tall, sleeves too tight around his shoulders, hands shoved in his pockets. He stopped and turned towards the vending machine, frozen in place. She pulled the door open and approached him from behind, catching his eye in the reflection of the machine, blowing a bubble and letting it pop to get is attention (and a little bit just to mess with him). He turned around slowly, staring at her for a few seconds with a deep crease between his brows as he connected the dots.

Suddenly his hands was on her arm and he dragged her backwards, into the room she’d just come out of, the door smashing open loudly. He pushed her all the way back until her back slammed up against a wall. His free hand flew up to pull his hood down and grab her other arm, pinning her.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

“Safe.”

“Do better.”

“Where did _you_ get it?”

“Why would I tell _you_?”

Natasha glared at him, trying to read past the frustration in his eyes and piece together what she knew.

She’d immediately given the drive to Nick. Nick, who showed up at Steve’s apartment for an unknown reason, was shot, and Steve suddenly ended up with it.

“Fury gave it to you,” she surmised, brows furrowing. “Why?”

“What’s on it?” Steve pushed, ignoring her question but answering it all the same. So Nick _had_ given it to Steve, right before he was killed. And now SHIELD was after him. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. What the hell _was_ on the damn thing?

“I don’t know-“

“ _Stop lying._ ” He tightened his grip on her arms.

“I only _act_ like I know everything, Rogers.”

That stumped him for a second. Someone walked by in the hall behind them, and he shot a quick glance back at the door before continuing his interrogation.

“I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn’t you?” he said finally, lowering his voice a bit.

She averted her gaze, giving herself a second to add that possibility into the scenario she’d already been building in her head. Fury knew about the hijacking at least a half hour before it was going to happen, based on when he called her in. Very conveniently, Natasha had been tasked with discreetly stealing information from the very organization the two of them worked for. Information that just happened to be on the same ship that had just been taken over by pirates. Information he’d apparently been killed for, that SHIELD was so desperate to retrieve they were now conducting a manhunt for Steve Rogers, of all people.

A horrifying thought flashed across her mind. _Did SHIELD murder Nick Fury?_

She stored that in the back of her mind to revisit later. One thing at a time.

“Well, it makes sense,” she answered. She had to deflect. Something was seriously messed up right now and she needed to figure this out on her own before she started declaring her conclusions. “The ship was dirty. Fury needed a way in, so do you-“

“I’m not gonna _ask you_ again!” he hissed, tightening his grip on her arms once more and shoving her backwards again.

Natasha was suddenly extremely aware of how close he was. She could feel his breath on her nose, quick and hot and angry. Not just angry though, she decided, searching his eyes. He was also confused. And betrayed. And a little bit nervous. She kept her eyes locked on his, determined to keep them there and not let them flicker downwards.

He was glaring at her expectantly.

“I know who killed Fury.”

She’d blurted it out before even thinking about it. He didn’t have a response to that but he seemed satisfied with her answer. He backed away just slightly, his hands finally releasing from her arms. Her upper arms suddenly felt cold where he’d been gripping them.

Her mind raced, forming an answer that would give him just enough information without making this conversation much worse.

“Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists.” She tried to keep eye contact with him. She was probably the most highly trained spy in the world and could lie her way out of just about any situation, but for some reason, it was so much harder to keep things from Steve Rogers. She averted her gaze briefly, the intense look in his eyes too much for her as she was overcome by guilt. “The ones that do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s credited with over two dozen assassins in the last fifty years.”

The crease between Steve’s brows deepened as he tried to comprehend what she was telling him. She tried to evaluate his expression, to gauge whether he’d heard the name before. She couldn’t find an ounce of recognition. _Good_.

“So he’s a ghost story,” he concluded. He didn’t believe her. Well, she was going to make him.

“Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out. But the Winter Soldier was there.” Steve’s eyes had narrowed, crease in his brow deepening as he listened intently to her story. “I was covering my engineer so he shot him.” She reached down and pulled up the edge of her shirt, revealing the giant scar on her lower abdomen. “Straight through me.” Steve glanced down at it, jaw tightening before he met her gaze again, but his expression softened. “Soviet slug. No rifling.” She paused and smirked at him. “Bye-bye bikinis.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now,” he replied drily.

It took her a second to comprehend what he’d said. Did Steve Rogers just try to _flirt?_ She pursed her lips together to suppress a grin. In any other situation, she would have surely given him hell for it, dished it back until he started squirming and his ears turned pink. Instead she distractedly let her eyes flick back down to his lips and swallowed hard. She reached down and pulled the drive out of her pocket to distract herself from the sudden twist in the pit of her stomach and her rapidly increasing heart rate.

“Going after him is a dead end. I know, I’ve tried.” She held up the drive between them, and he glanced down at it. “Like you said, he’s a ghost story.”

Steve met her eyes again and reached up to grab the drive from her hand.

“Well let’s find out what the ghost wants.”


	3. Chapter 3

Priority number one, they decided, was figuring out exactly what was on the flash drive Fury had died trying to protect. Steve wanted to leave immediately, assuming SHIELD would find them at the hospital with so many cameras everywhere, but before he could tell her so, she brushed past him and closed the door, locking them in.

“What are you doing?”

She turned to a backpack sitting on a small sofa against the window, dug through it, and started shoving clothes at him.

“You need to change.” Steve frowned down at what she’d given him: dark jeans, a t-shirt that looked like something Tony Stark would wear, a zip-up sweatshirt, and a jacket. It was the farthest thing from what he would pick out for himself, and barely looked like it would fit him.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“You look like an idiot, that’s what.” He glared at her, and she glanced over her shoulder to smirk at him. “You look like Captain America trying to hide from the government. You need to blend in.” She handed him a pair of shoes. They were hideous. “And there’s no cameras in here. If they caught us coming in dressed a certain way, it’ll be harder to notice us going out.”

He sighed. She had a point. “Fine.”

They changed quickly and in silence, before he turned back around and handed her the wadded up pile of his sweats. She shoved it into the bag, then handed him a ball cap and fake glasses.

“Where’s your shield?”

“Hid it in an alley down the street from my apartment,” he answered. He didn’t want to carry it around - much too obvious - but now he wished he’d found a way to sneak it into the hospital.

“And your suit?” she asked, zipping up the backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. She pulled up the hood from the sweater underneath her jacket and covered her hair before unlocking the door.

“In a locker at my gym.”

“But not your SHIELD locker?”

“No.”

“So that explains the fancy outfit.” She glanced back at him and grinned at the hard look he was giving her. “Good. They’ll track it there and it’ll throw them off.”

She glanced up and down the hall before heading in the opposite direction than he’d come in.

“Track it?” he breathed, his eyes flitting around to take in their surroundings, looking for anyone suspicious.

“Yeah, there’s a tracker in our suits. I thought you knew that.” The frown he shot over at her told her otherwise. It made sense, of course, but the thought of SHIELD having the ability to track their every move made him uncomfortable. “It’s going to work in our favor right now.”

He followed her to the parking garage across the street where she threw the backpack in the trunk of her Corvette before leading him down to the street.

“We’re not driving?” he asked under his breath once they were surrounded by background noise.

“No.” She stopped at the bus stop not far from the parking garage entrance. “If they haven’t found me by now they’ll assume I’m with you. And trust me, all of those idiots know what I drive.” She smirked. “This bus line goes straight to the mall. We can plug the drive in there and figure out what to do next. There’s enough people that we’ll blend in fine.”

Steve went along with it, trusting that she knew what she was doing. If the last two years had taught him anything, it was that Natasha was a hell of a lot better at this than he was.

The bus ride to the mall was silent. The thing was packed, considering it was a sunny spring Saturday in a heavily populated tourist area. There wasn’t a single empty seat so Natasha positioned them towards the middle, conveniently located next to a set of doors for a quick exit. She crowded him, not speaking with words but with her body language: turned towards him, her shoulder resting against his chest, her hand resting lightly on his stomach whenever they hit a bump or rounded the corner.

They’d posed as a couple before, of course. Several undercover missions they’d run together had required it. It was a relatively easy thing to pull off and the most efficient way to blend in with a crowd. But this wasn’t a mission, and the little glances he noticed her sneaking up at him whenever they were rocked against each other made him uncomfortable. Despite that, he still felt the weight of her absence when they’d arrived at their stop and she took his hand tightly in her own to lead him out of the door and into the mall, putting distance between them.

Once inside she headed straight for the Apple store. When it was in their sights he picked up the pace, but she reached down and gently grabbed his wrist just long enough to slow him down.

“The first rule of going on the run is don’t run. Walk.”

“If I run in these shoes they’re going to fall off,” he grumbled. He felt her eyes on him and glanced down, meeting her amused grin.

“Grandpa,” she muttered. He ignored her. “Ever been into an Apple store before?” she added lightly as they stepped onto the escalator that would take them up to the second level. He shot her a withering look, anticipating the punchline. “Might be overwhelming. Lots of new-fangled gizmos and gadgets.”

“Golly gee,” he deadpanned, and she snorted out a laugh.

Once inside the store - which was absolutely _packed_ , something that didn’t do much to ease Steve’s discomfort - Natasha pretended to browse for a few minutes, picking up a few of the devices and playing around with them. Blending in. It made Steve antsy. There were _so many_ cameras in here, and he wouldn’t be surprised if SHIELD had access to them all. If they didn’t hurry SHIELD would find them much quicker than he was comfortable with.

Finally, she settled at a laptop at the end of the large table of displays and started typing.

“You sure you can access it from here?” She paused just long enough to shoot him a look.

“Please.” She went back to her typing. “The drive has a level six homing program, so as soon as we boot up, SHIELD will know exactly where we are.”

“How much time do we have?” he asked, scanning the store. He took note of every face he saw: employees speaking with customers, parents keeping their kids away from the expensive devices, groups of teenagers taking selfies with the phones.

“Mm, about nine minutes from…” She plugged in the drive. “…now.”

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she began digging through the drive’s contents. She worked in silence for a couple minutes while Steve watched an older couple enter the store and search for an employee, closely followed by an innocent-looking young man with his phone glued to his ear.

“Fury’s right about that ship,” she murmured thoughtfully. Steve dropped his gaze down the the screen. A window popped up with logs from the Lumerian Star, dating all the way back to 2013. At least. “Somebody’s trying to hide something.” She paused and Steve scanned the store again. “This drive is protected by some sort of AI. It keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands.”

“Can you override it?” he asked, glancing back down at the screen. She let out a frustrated huff of air.

“The person who developed this is slightly smarter than me.” She shot a sideways glance. “…slightly.” Steve rolled his eyes and went back to keeping an eye out over the store. “I’m gonna try running a tracer,” she added. His scan proved unthreatening and he watched her work again. He couldn’t understand most of what he was seeing, but she worked faster and more efficiently than he’d ever even seen anyone, even Stark. He considered himself to have a pretty decent grasp on technology, but this was pretty mind-numbing. “This is a program that SHIELD developed to track hostile malware, so if we can’t _read_ the file, maybe we can find out where it _came_ from.” A map popped up on the screen, scanning the east coast.

“Can I help you guys with anything?”

Steve jumped, turning towards the employee that had approached them. _Shit._

Natasha immediately sprang into action. She twisted, grabbing his arm and practically dragging him in front of her. Her hands then traveled up to rest on either side of his shoulders. He gaped down at her.

“Oh, no! My fiancee was just helping me with some honeymoon destinations,” she lied with a grin, her voice flying up an entire octave. She shook him a little bit but he didn’t miss the way she subtly pushed him in front of her to block the screen. Then, to sell this new persona, she let out a high pitched giggle. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard come out of her mouth.

The guy took the bait, focusing his attention on Steve so she could get back to work.

“Yeah,” he stammered, swallowing hard and plastering on a fake smile. “We’re…gettin’ married.”

“Congratulations!” the guy said, leaning in a bit. Steve shifted his weight onto his other foot in an attempt to block the guy’s view of the laptop. “Where’re you guys thinking about going?”

Steve panicked and glanced down at the screen as it zoomed in to the origin of the drive. _Fucking hell…_

It took every ounce of strength from the serum coursing through his veins to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“New Jersey,” he answered through gritted teeth. Bucky would have punched him. He heard Natasha snort out a laugh behind him.

“Huh.” Steve nodded anxiously to further encourage the lie.

The guy squinted at him, his mouth dropping open. Steve went rigid _._ If this guy recognized them and caused a scene…

“I have the _exact_ same glasses,” he said with a grin. Steve let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in and offered the guy another fake smile, reaching up to fidget with the frames sitting on his nose.

“Wow, you two are practically _twins_ ,” Natasha drawled sarcastically.

“Yeah, I _wish_.” He gestured towards Steve with an awkward chuckle. “Specimen.”

The second he walked away, Natasha choked out a laugh.

“Shut up,” he muttered under his breath.

“He seemed nice.” He groaned. He knew exactly where this was going. “You should go get his number.”

“Focus."

“Come _on_ , he was totally flirting with you.” She shot him a grin. _Evil._

“He thinks I’m engaged.”

“He’s a _man_ ,” she replied with an amused glance over at him.

He ignored her, his cheeks burning while he checked his watch, desperate to change the subject. “You said nine minutes, come on.”

“Shh, _relax_.” Her mouth curved up into a little sideways grin. “Got it.”

The program zoomed in on the map, and Steve bent down to look at it more closely, narrowing his eyes at the screen. It was in the middle of nowhere, but something about it was familiar. She glanced over at him curiously.

“You know it?”

If the coordinates took him to where he thought they were, he more than knew the area. And if that’s where the files originated, something was definitely not right.

“I used to. Let’s go.”

He pulled the drive out of the laptop and the program disappeared as if it had never been there at all. They made a beeline for the exit - Steve pointedly ignored the employee they’d seen earlier as he tried to tell them to have a nice day, as well as the suggestive look Natasha gave him when she noticed - then turned and pushed themselves into the crowd. Steve scanned the faces that surrounded them, and to his chagrin, recognizing some of them.

“They’re here,” he muttered. She didn’t react, but let her eyes flit over the crowd of people as well. “Standard tac team. Two behind, two across-“ He glanced behind him again, “-and two coming straight at us.”

Natasha looked straight ahead, keeping her pace steady, close enough that her shoulder was bumping into his. He kept his eyes up, keeping the two STRIKE team members ahead of them in his peripheral vision while mapping out the closest exits. There was a hallway to their right that led to bathrooms and a fire exit. If he could make it through there, it would minimize the risk of civilians getting in the way. Natasha could get away with the drive while he distracted them.

“If they make us I’ll engage, you hit the south escalator to the metro-“

“Shut up and put your arm around me. Laugh at something I said.”

“What?”

“ _Do it._ ”

He lifted his arm up and wrapped it around her shoulder, ducking his head down and letting out a fake laugh. She met his eyes for a brief second and gave him the tiniest of nods as they brushed past the two agents coming at them. He immediately glanced around at them them when they passed.

“Stop it, turn around,” Natasha hissed. He faced front again. She let him slide his arm off of his shoulder but kept close to him, slipping her hand into his. “Stay close to me,” she added, tightening her grip on his hand as she led him to the escalator that would take them to the ground floor.

He used the vantage point to sweep over the top of Natasha’s head and across the sea of faces at the bottom, still keeping tabs on the two agents they’d passed, who had just pushed their way into the Apple store. Once they got to the bottom, there was an exit only a few storefronts away. If his memory of the layout was correct, that went straight to the parking garage connected to the building. SHIELD was probably waiting for them out front, so this was the easiest way out. If they could sneak out the back instead, they could grab a car and-

Natasha suddenly turned around and looked up at him, eyes wide with alarm.

“Kiss me,” she breathed. He frowned down at her. The words didn’t make sense in his head.

“ _What_?”

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

“ _Yes_ , they _do_ ,” he stammered. It was _Natasha_. He couldn’t just… _kiss_ her.

She let out an exasperated huff and reached up, sliding her hand behind his neck to drag him down and press her lips hard against his. It made him dizzy and knocked the breath out of him. His knees buckled, and before he could think better of it his hand flew out to grab tight to her waist to prevent himself from toppling down the stairs and knocking over her and everyone else below them. His other hand gripped the railing of the escalator so hard he could feel the rubber resisting against the metal it was sliding on.

And then suddenly she moved, her palm sliding down to cup the side of his face. She deepened the kiss, her lips parting just slightly. His gut twisted and he found himself kissing her back, his hand sliding farther back to rest on the small of her back to hold her against him. Her thumb brushed across his cheek, and her other hand, which had been resting on the railing of the escalator, slid between them to curl around the lapel of his jacket, pulling him even closer.

Those few seconds were the longest of his life, but at the same time, not nearly long enough. She pulled away, just enough to look him in the eye, their lips still close enough to brush against each other. His heart was thumping so hard and so fast in his chest he was certain she’d be able to hear it. Her brow furrowed as she gazed up at him and he saw something unrecognizable flash through them.

And then it was over. She immediately spun away from him, stepping around the shoppers in front of her to descend quicker, like she suddenly needed to be as far away from him as possible. He swallowed hard and followed her lead.

“You still uncomfortable?” It sounded as if she meant to tease him, but it came out flat.

“That’s not exactly the word I would use,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

“And what word would you use exactly, Captain?” she murmured, pulling her hood back up to cover her hair again from when it had fallen a minute ago. She shot him a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes; he felt his ears getting warm and ignored her question.

They reached the bottom and she slowed her pace enough for him to catch up. She grabbed his hand, hesitating before pulling herself against him. Her grip was much tighter than it had been before and he could feel the tension radiating off of her.

“Rumlow was staring straight at us,” she explained finally. “We would have been made if he’d have gotten any closer.”

Steve didn’t respond; instead he silently led the way to the parking garage so they could find a car. The second they passed through the doors and decided they were safe she dropped his hand and put a good foot of space between them.

Steve found a pickup truck on the ground level, engine cold and inconspicuous. It was a popular enough model that it wouldn’t stick out on the road; plus, the thing was much sturdier than a sedan. Just in case.

It was also large enough that he wouldn’t have to sit squished up against Natasha for three hours.

Natasha climbed in first and watched him hot-wire it from the front seat, and by the time he’d gotten it started and slid into the driver’s seat she’d made herself comfortable, feet stretched up onto the dashboard. She looked impressed but didn’t say a word until he’d pulled it out on the street and she directed him to turn left towards his apartment. They took a roundabout way through the city to avoid checkpoints, and once he’d picked up his shield from where he’d hidden it behind a dumpster - SHIELD wouldn’t expect him to go back there, so she insisted they’d be safe - he headed for the highway.

The first hour of the drive was uncomfortably silent. Natasha busied herself with watching the road in case they were being followed and only spoke to give him directions. It wasn’t until they’d gotten through Baltimore before he started to relax. Natasha must also have decided they were out of any immediate danger, because she suggested they stop for food.

“Seriously?” he replied, giving her an exasperated glare. His stomach chose that exact second to rumble loudly. She raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed. “Fine, but it has to be drive-thru. The stores have cameras, we’re not risking our lives for a cheeseburger.”

“Rumlow was two feet away from us and didn’t even notice. We’ll be fine.”

 _Your fault_ , he wanted to reply, but he kept his mouth shut and wordlessly pulled onto the approaching exit ramp towards the McDonalds she’d seen right off the highway. She made him order enough food for at least four people and then they were back on the road as quickly as he could get them there.

“Told you this was a good idea,” she said, then shoved a handful of fries in her mouth. He just rolled his eyes, not willing to admit to her that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon and it probably _was_ , in fact, a good idea.

“How’s your leg?” he asked instead. She paused in reaching for more fries and glanced down at it, almost like she’d forgotten.

“Oh…it’s fine.”

“It looked pretty bad yesterday-“

“I heal fast.”

She went back to her lunch and left it at that. He didn’t push. There were always rumors floating around that she was enhanced, but she’d never actually confirmed it. Little things, like her impeccable hearing, speed, stamina, and agility could just as easily be a product of her profession. They were silent for several minutes while they ate.

“Did you really beat the hell out of the entire STRIKE team?” she asked finally.

“How did you know about that?” he asked, glancing over and raising an eyebrow at her. She shrugged.

“They hadn’t cut my access to the STRIKE alert channel yet.” Then she smirked. “Rumlow was _pissed_.”

“Good,” Steve muttered under his breath. The asshole had deserved it. Then, just for her reaction, he added, “I may have also broken the elevator and then jumped out of it.”

It was worth it. She choked on her soda.

“Are you serious?” He glanced over at her with a sheepish grin and nodded. “How far?”

“Fifteen stories? Maybe twenty.” She laughed. His eyes went back to the road, satisfied. She didn’t laugh - _really_ laugh - very often.

“God, you’re dramatic.”

They fell into an easy silence after that, the tension from earlier seemingly gone, as they finished their lunch. Natasha cleaned it all up before reclining her seat a bit and returning her feet to the dashboard. Steve kept his eyes forward but he could see her peeking glances over at him every once in a while. It wasn’t until he noticed she’d actually turned to watch him that he glanced over at her again.

“What?”

“Where did Captain America learn how to steal a car?” He turned back to the road.

“Nazi Germany.” She hummed, apparently satisfied with his answer. He nodded towards her footrest. “And we’re borrowing. Take your feet off the dash.”

She didn’t protest, but pulled them down, the corner her mouth ticking upwards.

“Alright, I have a question for you,” she challenged, still watching him. “Uh, which you do not have to answer,” she added quickly, and he glanced over at her again. She had that look in her eye, like she was about to tease him about something, but the way she was uncharacteristically rambling told him she wasn’t entirely comfortable. “I feel like if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of…answering it, you know-?“

“ _What?”_ He met her eyes, and she grinned.

“Was that your first kiss since 1945?”

Steve averted his gaze, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Well it kinda _sounds_ like that’s what you’re saying.”

“No, I didn’t…I just wondered how much… _practice_ you’ve had-”

“You don’t need _practice_.”

“Everybody needs practice!”

“It was _not_ my first kiss since 1945.” She was watching him with an amused look on her face. He could feel the tips of his ears getting warm, probably giving her the exact reaction she’d been hoping for. He could also tell she saw right through his lie by the way her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t call him out on it. “I’m ninety-five. I’m not dead,” he muttered.

“Nobody special though?”

Steve huffed out a bitter laugh. “Believe it or not, it’s kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience.”

“Well, that’s alright. You just make something up.”

“What, like you?” He glanced over and met her eyes, and instantly regretted the words. The smiled faded from her lips and she averted her gaze.

“I don’t know, the truth is a matter of circumstance. It’s not all things to all people, _all_ the time.” She paused, staring blankly at the console of the car. “And neither am I.”

She met his gaze again, a small smile plastered on her lips once more but the light gone from her eyes. There was a rawness to that answer that he hadn’t anticipated.

He was one to give a lot to others, probably sometimes too much. Bucky had always told him he wore his heart on his sleeve. He let himself wonder what it would be like to have that beaten out of him, to live a life that required him to give just enough to get what he wanted and needed, and fear giving any more than that.

It explained a lot about her, though; the bits and pieces she very carefully picked and chose to let him see, the masks and personas she put on that rotated depending on who was on the receiving end. She’d probably never had the ability to be her true, complete self to anyone she’d ever met, with the exception of maybe Barton. It seemed incredibly lonely.

“That’s a tough way to live,” he replied finally. She stared out the front windshield, eyes clouding over.

“It’s a good way not to die, though,” she said softly, the words sending an ache through his chest.

“You know, it’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is.” She just stared at him. The emptiness in her eyes made him uneasy.

“Yeah,” she replied flatly. She averted her gaze for a few long seconds before she snapped out of it and blinked back over at him. “Who do you want me to be?”

It was a loaded question. She was testing him. He wished not for the first time that she could read her, at least a little bit, so he could figure out what kind of answer she was looking for.

He could be honest, of course. Tell her he didn’t know. That every time she teased him or flirted with him just to make him uncomfortable or tried to set him up with seemingly every single person they came into contact with, his gut would twist in his stomach, making him feel nauseous; that every time he saw how close she was with Barton - whether it was the way they spoke to each other and worked seamlessly together or little glances and familiar touches between the two of them and how effortlessly comfortable she was around him - a raging jealousy he didn’t even know he was capable of would flare up out of nowhere; that every time he saw her work he was completely awestruck at how powerful and effortless and beautiful and incredible she was; that it made him so uncomfortable how little he actually knew about her, but despite that he still had these unexplained feelings and it didn’t seem to matter that she purposefully only let him get to know one specific side of her.

That the only thing he’d been able to think about the last two hours was how her lips felt against his and that she tasted like bubblegum and coconut chapstick.

He swallowed thickly, overwhelmed by the vulnerability in her eyes as they stared unblinkingly into his, waiting for an answer.

“How about a friend?”

She breathed out a laugh that didn’t meet her eyes and faded quickly. “Well, there’s a chance you might be in the _wrong_ business, Rogers.”

Her eyes were completely blank now, matching her expression as she watched his reaction carefully. He knew her well enough to recognize it as a defense mechanism. Any time something got to be just a little bit too much, she completely shut down. Steve always wondered if it was just on the surface or if she could actually rid herself of whatever she was feeling, too.

He just tightened his jaw and forced himself to watch the road. He couldn’t come up with any kind of response, because he knew she was right. It was all he felt. Wrong, everything _wrong_. SHIELD was wrong. The things people expected of him, wrong. The way he felt about Natasha, whatever the hell that was _…definitely_ wrong. Now they were chasing answers to the questions that kept piling up, and everything about that felt wrong too.

Wrong business? Maybe. That might be the only thing that _was_ right.

The coordinates led them to a gravel road, which ended at a tall gate lined with barbed wire at the top. Steve stopped the car and Natasha climbed out of the truck, frowning down at her phone. She’d been expecting some kind of secluded house, or maybe a not-so-abandoned warehouse or factory, the type bad guys typically thought were hidden well enough. Not a giant run down army base.

“This is it?’ Steve asked, once he’d followed her out of the car and strapped his shield securely to his arm.

“The file came from these coordinates,” she answered with a shrug, slipping her phone back into her pocket. They approached the fence and she noticed the sign on the front: CAMP LEHIGH, U.S. ARMY RESTRICTED AREA.

“So did I,” Steve muttered under his breath. She glanced over at him, but he kept walking. He definitely recognized it, which confused her even more about why the drive had led them here of all places.

When he reached the section of the gate that was locked, he gripped the padlock tightly in his hands and it crumpled under the force of them, allowing him to rip it off and drop it to the ground. He pushed the gate open just enough for them to pass through and wordlessly made his way into the camp, Natasha following closely behind.

They wandered for a bit, the sun setting not long after their arrival. Natasha found herself combing through the dark barracks, finding nothing but large, empty rooms with rows of beds. When she didn’t find anything useful she made her way back towards the center of the gated area, finding Steve searching through a few offices, finding just about as much as she had.

The program on the drive was supposedly _created_ here, but the most technologically advanced thing they’d found was a rotary phone and a few tiny tube televisions.

“There’s nothing here,” she concluded finally, when he’d met her back outside and hopped down off of the cement slab the office was sitting on. She watched him curiously as he brushed past her and walked back down a row of buildings. Finally, she took her phone out and opened the tracker that had brought them here, lifting it up to get a better signal. “This thing can’t pinpoint an exact location,” she added, trailing behind him on the ramp that led to the next building. “Any ideas?”

He hadn’t seemed to hear her. “This camp is where I was trained,” he said, answering the wrong question. At least that explained his uneasiness about this place since she’d pulled up the coordinates in DC. His voice echoed through the darkness, bouncing off of the abandoned structures. Natasha kept her eyes on her phone, which was only giving her an approximate area about a mile wide, and she was starting to get frustrated. She’d secured her phone to the point where SHIELD couldn’t access or track it, but without her full clearance (which had been revoked at some point once they realized she was missing too), it would be too risky to break back into their system and pull more data.

“Change much?”

“A little.”

She kept walking down a longer extension of the ramp, the only sound being the soft beeping of her phone. It had seemed for a second that it was pointing to a specific direction, but the targeting program suddenly widened its range again, leaving her in the middle of too large of an area to narrow down. She sighed and turned around, pausing when she got a glimpse of Steve. She watched him curiously. He was ignoring her, staring around blankly, eyes cloudy.

“Well this is a dead end,” she said finally, snapping him out of it. “Zero heat signatures, zero waves, not even radio…” Steve turned towards her, glancing around absentmindedly. “Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off…“ Steve’s eyes had suddenly narrowed towards something behind her and she trailed off. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer her at first, just tightened his shield on his arm, hopping onto the slab of concrete and crossing over it before heading towards a building behind her.

“Army regulations forbid storing munitions within five hundred yards of the barracks,” he told her, once she’d hopped down and followed him. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Of course he would know that_. “This building’s in the wrong place.”

With one swift movement he lifted his shield and smashed it with perfect precision against the padlock on the door. It fell to the ground, allowing him to pull it open and disappear into the darkness. Natasha followed and glanced around, finding a light switch. The overhead lights sizzled to life, flooding the room with dim yellow light.

They were in a huge room, filled with rows and rows of desks. Old rotary phones and various office supplies sat on top of them, and rolling chairs were scattered around, all of which were covered with a thick layer of dust. The entire room was in eerie disarray, as if it had suddenly been evacuated decades ago and then forgotten. A giant logo was painted on the wall opposite them: an eagle, pale yellow and army green.

“This is SHIELD,” she surmised, taking a few steps down the aisle of desks. _Why is there still power?_ The thought floated through her mind, but it was racing through so many possibilities that it got pushed aside.

“Maybe where it started.”

They wandered through the building, peeking into offices and filing rooms, finding nothing of interest. She followed Steve into a room off of the main one, a few more desks placed around it and the rest of it filled with empty wooden shelving units. There were photos on the wall, and he stopped short when he saw them.

“There’s Stark’s father,” she pointed out, nodding towards the photos. 

“Howard,” Steve confirmed. Howard Stark, looking eerily like his son, centered in a crooked frame. On his left, an older man she didn’t recognize, and a woman on the right. Natasha glanced over at Steve, who was fixated on the latter photo.

“Who’s the girl?” she asked, wondering if he’d answer her.

She knew, of course. Peggy Carter, co-founder of SHIELD. She’d met her once, very early on after joining SHIELD. Carter had already retired about a year before, but had been at the New York City headquarters for some reason or another and Fury insisted on introducing her to Natasha and Clint. The only thing she really knew about Carter was that she was part of Steve’s team during the war and worked closely with him, James, and Stark. After Steve’s supposed death she and Howard founded SHIELD, and she’d operated as director until her retirement in the nineties when Nick took over.

What she didn’t know was why Steve was staring at her photo, a million miles away, his fist curling tighter around the strap of his shield.

He ignored her question, turning away after a few lingering seconds and wordlessly heading farther into the room. She took another glance at Carter’s photo - her dark lips and even darker hair, perfect waves framing her face - before storing the information for later so she could ask him about it. She briefly wondered if they’d been more than just teammates, and when that thought sent an alarmingly sudden ache through her chest she immediately shoved it away and followed Steve to where he was examining the shelves against the wall.

“If you’re already working in a secret office…” he trailed off, slipping his fingers in the seam between two units and grunting as he pulled. They slid apart, revealing an opening. He adjusted his position and pushed, the shelving unit continuing to move on their track until it opened up to a short hallway, a set of doors at the end of it. “Why do you need to hide the elevator?”

“SHIELD has always had secrets,” she reminded him. He answered with a disapproving hum and made his way down the hallway. He had a point, though. This place was built in the forties; keeping an intelligence headquarters locked away in a disguised building would have already hidden it effectively for the time.

There was a keypad on the side of the doors. Natasha pulled her phone out, switched to a different app and held it up to the buttons It went to work, scanning the numbers and picking out the ones with heavy fingerprints attached to them. It scrolled through until it found the correct code and she frowned down at it. This was way too easy, considering this building was supposedly abandoned decades ago.

These fingerprints were recent.

She punched in the code and the doors opened with a ding. Steve glanced over at her, catching her eye. He raised his eyebrows, just a little, and tipped his head towards the elevator.

“Ready?” he asked with an upwards twitch of his lips. Had she not had a lingering _very bad feeling_ about this, she would have maybe let herself think it was cute. Maybe.

“Going down into the hidden basement of a creepy abandoned government building? What could go wrong?” she replied with a grin, and stepped into the elevator.

The elevator was rickety but it got them down a few levels, opening up to another large room. It was pitch black. As they headed farther into the room, however, she heard a mechanical-sounding _whirr_ , and lights flickered on above them. The room was even larger than it had looked in the darkness, with rows upon rows old hard drives. She hadn’t seen a computer like this in years.

“This can’t be the data point, this technology is ancient,” she said, throwing Steve an incredulous half-smile. She was about to throw in a joke at his expense - _not as ancient as you, of course, but still old_ \- but before she could her eyes fell on something sitting on the main terminal in the center of the room. It was an adaptor, a row of USB ports on the front and two more sticking out of the top. That was definitely _not_ ancient. She approached it to get a closer look. It was active, blue light glowing from the top of it. The dust on the desk around it was uneven, less coated than the rest of the surface. She pulled out the flash drive, glancing down at it before plugging it in to one of the ports on the top.

As soon as she did, the room came alive. The machines started spinning and more lights flickered on deeper into the room.

“ _INITIATE SYSTEM?_ ”

Natasha turned her attention back to the center terminal. The cursor was blinking, bright green against the black screen, waiting for her response. She stepped forward, reaching out for the dust-covered keyboard.

“Y-E-S spells yes,” she muttered under her breath, and tapped enter. The computer started thinking, and she grinned. “‘ _Shall we play a game?’”_ When Steve didn’t answer, she turned back to him. “It’s from a movie that was really pop-“

“I know. I saw it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him - he was still watching the screen - and turned back around, hand resting on her hip. She hadn’t shown him that one, and now she wanted to know who had been doing her job for her.

She didn’t have time to ponder. A mess of green lines started filtering onto the computer screen, and the camera on the top of it moved shakily, stopping on Steve.

“ _Rogers, Steven. Born 1918._ ” The voice was grainy, a heavy german accent. The camera rotated and pointed at her. “ _Romanov, Natalia Alianovna.”_ That snapped her attention back to the screen, and she frowned. “ _Born 1984._ ”

“Some kind of recording?” she guessed.

“ _I am not a recording,_ fraulein,” the computer interjected. “ _I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in 1945, but I…am._ ”

A smaller screen to the right showed the face of a man, balding and almost bug-like, large round glasses sitting on his face. She could see the resemblance in the mess of glowing green lines on the larger monitor. She looked over to Steve, who was frowning deeply.

“You know this thing?” He glanced between the two screens, then slowly started to walk around the terminal, eyeing the rest of the machine around the room.

“Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked with the Red Skull,” he explained. Natasha watched him carefully as he circled around the terminal. “He’s been dead for years.”

“ _First correction! I am_ Swiss _. Second, look around you.”_ Steve did. So did Natasha, catching his eyes and sharing an equally as confused look with him. “ _I have never been more alive._

 _“In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science…could not save my body. My mind, however…that was worth saving. On two hundred thousand feet of databanks.”_ Steve finished rounding the terminal and crossed behind her, staring at the screen again. The camera on top followed his movements. “ _You are standing in my brain.”_

“How did you get here?” Steve asked, coming to a halt in front of the monitor again.

“ _Invited_ ,” Zola answered simply.

“Operation…Paperclip,” Natasha remembered suddenly. She’d read a file in the archives about it once. “After World War II, SHIELD recruited Germain scientists for…strategic value.” She shrugged and glanced over at Steve. His brow was still deeply furrowed as he stared at Zola. She could see the gears moving, trying to make sense of it.

“ _They thought I could help their cause,_ ” Zola offered. “ _I also helped my own_.”

“Hydra died with the Red Skull,” Steve shot back defensively.

“ _Cut off one head…”_ A logo appeared in place of Zola’s face. Some kind of serpent, six legs curling around it. It morphed back into Zola’s face, double images this time, side by side. _“Two more shall take its place._ ”

Steve stiffened next to her. “Prove it,” he demanded.

 _“Accessing archive._ ”

A new image flickered onto the screen to their left. This man she recognized: Johann Schmidt, German dress uniform and a nazi flag waving in the background. Steve took a step closer to it.

“ _Hydra was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom,_ ” Zola started. Schmidt - the Red Skull - was replaced with new images, grainy video of perfectly arranged nazi soldiers. “ _What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist._ ” A new video replaced those of the Germans. Steve, suited up and directing an unseen group of soldiers. _“The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly.”_

The images and videos were coming faster now: burning nazi flags, Steve confidently marching besides German soldiers, their arms up in surrender.

“ _After the war, SHIELD was founded, and I was recruited. The new Hydra grew, a beautiful parasite inside SHIELD._ ” Steve was practically shaking next to her. Natasha stepped closer, heart thumping wildly, as more and more footage came one after another. “ _For seventy years, Hydra has been secretly feeding crisis. Reaping war. And when history did not cooperate?”_ A flash of metal, red star emblazoned upon it. “ _History was changed._ ”

Natasha’s blood ran cold, panic flooding through her.

“That’s impossible,” she blurted out. He’d trained her. Her handlers worked with his. And if he was operating under the direction of Hydra, then that meant… “SHIELD would have stopped you.”

A news article popped up on screen then: HOWARD AND MARIA STARK DIE IN CAR ACCIDENT.

“ _Accidents…will happen._ ” It zoomed in on Howard Stark, eyes crossed out, then flickered to Fury. DECEASED was stamped across his SHIELD file.

 _James killed Nick. James killed Stark’s parents. James is Hydra._ Her mind raced, too fast for her to keep up. _Fury found out, so they murdered him. James killed him. James trained with me, went on missions with me. I went on missions with him. I killed for him, for…for Hydra. For nazis._

She felt nauseous.

“ _Hydra created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom, to gain its security.”_ More images flew by: modern security cameras, satellites. SHIELD was an intelligence agency, it had access to the security of the entire world.

And so did Hydra.

“ _Once the purification process is complete, Hydra’s new world order will arise.”_ Giant helicarriers, SHIELD security footage. “ _We won, Captain.”_

A headline, Steve’s face taking up the entire screen, dated the day after he crashed the plane: MARCH 5TH, 1945: ROGERS DISAPPEARS. Another, more recent: THE HERO WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING. Natasha glanced over at him hopelessly. He was practically vibrating with rage, one fist clenching the strap of his shield, the other curled over the edge of the chair in front of them, knuckles white, so tight it was ripping under the force.

_“Your death amounts to the same as your life: a zero sum.”_

Steve suddenly moved, overcome with rage, his fist flying forward and slamming into the screen. It absolutely shattered, Zola’s face disappearing underneath a web of deep cracks. Natasha jumped backwards half a step. It was silent for a few seconds, nothing but the sound of Steve’s hard breaths filling the air.

 _“As I was saying…”_ Zola was back, flickering onto one of the smaller screens to the right.

“What’s on this drive!?” Steve demanded, brushing past Natasha towards Zola’s face and sending her back a few more paces.

“ _Project: Insight requires…insight. So I wrote an algorithm-_ ”

“What kind of algorithm?” Natasha interjected, coming back to Steve’s side again. “What does it do?”

_“The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you shall be too dead to hear it.”_

A whirr of machinery sounded loudly behind them and they both whipped around. Another door was closing in front of the elevator, their only way out. Steve flung his shield at it but it closed before it could lodge into the seam of the heavy steel. It bounced off of the metal, smacked against another wall and flew back towards them. He ran up a few paces to catch it, and her phone beeped. She pulled it out and froze.

“Steve, we’ve got a bogey,” she warned, voice shaking. More information started popping up on her phone and he spun around to face her. “Short range ballistic. Thirty seconds, tops.”

“Who fired it!?”

She tore her eyes away from her phone and met his equally horrified gaze. He already knew the answer.

“SHIELD,” she breathed. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Natasha’s mind suddenly blank, flooding with sheer panic.

 _“I am afraid I have been stalling, Captain,”_ Zola taunted. She almost forgot he was still there. She turned on her heel and reached for the drive, yanking it from the adaptor and sliding it safely into her back pocket. “ _Admit it, it’s better this way_.” The beeping on Natasha’s phone was getting faster and faster. She spun back around just in time to see Steve run up to one of the grates in the floor. He ripped it out the ground to reveal an open ventilation shaft. He tossed the grate across the room, glancing back at her, and she sprinted towards him. _“We are both of us out of time._ ”

She reached him just as everything around them exploded.

Steve grabbed the back of her jacket and shoved her down into the vent in front of him. Her knees hit the concrete and he crowded over her, shoving her into the concrete and flinging his shield up above their heads. She turned and curled into him, reaching for his jacket and pulling him down farther. Heavy chunks of concrete started falling on them, crashing against the vibranium. He cried out against the strain but his arm stayed steady.

Something huge smashed against his shield, jolting them both backwards. She stayed put thanks to Steve’s strong arm holding her tightly against his chest, but her head flung backward and hit concrete wall with a sickening crack. She saw stars and was overcome with blinding pain that spread quickly over her head. Her stomach lurched, bile rising in the back of her throat.

“S-Steve-”

It came out too quiet, and he didn’t hear her over the structure crumbling on top of them. _Shit._ She was either going to puke or pass out. Or both. Something else hit his shield and her head smacked against the wall again. She cried out as another wave of nausea hit her. Her vision went fuzzy, and she had just enough time to bury her head against his chest before everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything exploded. And then it stopped, as quickly as it had began.

Steve opened his eyes. It was pitch black, dark even with his enhanced vision. He carefully pulled down his shield, bracing himself in case the debris above them started collapsing in on them.

“You okay?” he asked, getting a lungful of dust in return. He coughed violently, tears flooding his eyes.

Natasha hadn’t responded. He glanced down to where she was still curled into him, head buried against his chest.

She wasn’t moving. _Fuck_.

“Natasha?” He couldn’t remember feeling her go limp in his arms. He rushed to find her pulse, fingers sliding blindly around the side of her neck. He breathed out a small sigh of relief when he found it. Something must have hit her, and depending on what it was, she could have a concussion. Or worse.

He needed to get them out of there.

His shield had caused everything to fall around them rather than crushing them, but they could have been buried under a hundred feet of concrete for all he knew. He let Natasha go, carefully sitting her up against what remained of the wall they’d been cornered against. Then he got to work, testing a few areas, trying to see if any of them would give without the entire thing falling loose and crushing them. It was a bit tedious - _we don’t have time for this_ \- but finally a piece gave way, and he saw light.

As soon as the piece fell away he was suddenly surrounded by a cloud of dust. It filled his lungs and they burned as he coughed again. The entire building was destroyed, piles of rubble burning with the remains of the missile. He turned to Natasha and scooped her up with his shield before carefully maneuvering his way through the hole he’d just made.

And then a whirr of sound caught his attention and he glanced off beyond the wreckage.

 _Quinjets._ Several of them. Bright white floodlights were moving closer and closer. He panicked, turning and leaping over the chunks of concrete and rebar and steel, keeping to the shadows to avoid the spotlights. Camp Lehigh was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but trees on the other side of the gate, but on this side there was too much open space for his comfort.

The quinjets - at least three of them, by his count - were lowering to the ground to let out the STRIKE team. Steve ducked behind the barracks as he ran, anticipating the fence at the edge of the property and, with a running start, used a concrete ramp to hop on top of one of the buildings, launch himself off the roof, and clear the fence. He landed on his feet holding Natasha as steady as he could against his chest, wincing as his knees buckled, and disappeared into the forest.

He didn’t know how long he ran, but he didn’t stop, even to catch his breath. SHIELD wouldn’t believe they were dead until they found bodies, and as soon as they realized they were none, they’d spread out. The trees were relatively thick, which gave him an advantage, but they were in the middle of _nowhere_. He had absolutely no idea where they were or how close they were to civilization. And if Natasha didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to risk it and find a hospital.

After quite a while - long enough that he was starting to actually get winded - the trees thinned out and he found himself at the edge of a cornfield. There was a small, dark house on the other side of it with a FOR SALE sign hanging in the front yard.

He contemplated his options. He could risk it, cross the field and hide out in the house for a few hours. Then he could try to wake Natasha up and make sure she was okay before they figured out their next move. Or, he could head in a different direction, continuing to use the forest as cover and hope he could find somewhere else to wait it out.

He couldn’t wait. Natasha was still out cold; he needed to check her vitals and get her up and talking, something he couldn’t do out in the open like this. He couldn’t hear the jets, so it was at least safe to assume they were too far behind or going in the wrong direction.

With his mind made up he took a deep breath, readjusted her in his arms, and sprinted across the field.

The handle on the front door broke easily enough with a sharp twist of his hand, and he found that the house was indeed completely empty. The front door opened into a living room with a hallway branching off to the right that led to a few bedrooms and a tiny bathroom. He decided on the smaller room that was located towards the back of the house. There was a window facing the direction of Camp Lehigh, giving him a decent vantage point to keep watch, and deep enough into the house that he’d have time to react if they ended up finding them and breaking down the front door. He sat Natasha down on the floor in a sitting position perpendicular to the window, then leaned his shield against the wall within arms reach and cracked the window enough to hear what was going on outside.

Once settled, he turned his focus to Natasha, kneeling in front of her to check what vitals he could: she still had a strong pulse and seemed to be breathing normally. There was no bleeding anywhere he could see. She didn’t seem to be injured anywhere else. It bothered him that she hadn’t woken up yet, but other than that, she appeared to be okay.

“Natasha?” he asked softly. Her eyelids twitched but she didn’t answer. He rested a hand on her shoulder and shook it gently. “Nat, come on. I need you to wake up.”

A soft groan escaped her lips, and her brow creased ever so slightly. She muttered something in Russian, barely more than a breath, but it sent a wave of relief flooding through him.

“Nat, can you hear me?”

Finally, _finally_ , her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked up at him.

“Steve?” she breathed.

“Yeah.” He offered her a soft smile. She stared at him blankly, her eyes glassy, pupils much too dilated for his liking. “I think you hit your head. Are you okay?”

“Hurts.” She closed her eyes again, screwing her face up in pain reaching up to gingerly touch her fingertips to the side of her head. “Where…?”

“Safe, don’t worry. I got us out. I don’t think they’ll find us.” She opened her eyes and frowned. A jolt of panic shot through him. “Do you…remember what happened?”

Natasha stared at him blankly for a second, then closed her eyes again. “Hydra. SHIELD. Boom.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

“Good.” She kept her eyes shut. She was drifting off. He reached up and shook her shoulder again. “Hey, I need you to stay awake, okay?” She let out another groan that almost sounded like a whine. The corner of his mouth ticked up into a smile that she’d probably punch off of him if she was more coherent. “Just for a little bit. Until I make sure you’re okay.”

“‘m awake,” she mumbled. “Don’t feel good.”

“I know.” She shifted uncomfortably. Steve moved from where he was kneeling in front of her to sit beside her instead. She leaned against him, head falling to his shoulder. “Can I feel?”

Natasha nodded, and he slid his fingers into her hair, running them across her scalp. He wasn’t sure where she hit it, but there didn’t seem to be a bump. Not that he could feel, at least. That was definitely a good sign. She relaxed into him farther, and he absentmindedly let his fingers linger in her hair.

He’d always wondered if it was as soft as it looked. It was.

“Steve,” she breathed finally, and he pulled his hand away. She hadn’t seemed to notice. “You saved my life.”

Of course he did. Had she expected him to leave her? His heart sank at the thought.

Before he could form any kind of reply, she took a ragged breath.

“‘m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…for being sucha…a bitch to you.” Steve couldn’t help it and breathed out a laugh. “I mean it.”

“It’s okay. It’s been a rough couple days.” Natasha shifted against him, adjusting her head so she could gaze up at him. Her eyes were still a bit glassy, but her pupils weren’t as dilated as they had been. There was more of herself in them. “What?”

“I…” She paused. Her brows furrowed just slightly, a little crease forming between them. Her flickered down to his lips and they lingered there for a few seconds before flitting back up to meet his gaze again. He swallowed hard, pointedly ignoring the way his stomach was twisting up into knots as she stared at him. “I…need to find you a date.”

He breathed out a nervous chuckle. She just smirked at him and dropped her head back down.

“You’re barely conscious and still trying to find me a date?”

She just nodded. It had become more of a running joke than anything else, but it still frustrated him. At first, he knew she was just trying to encourage him to socialize. To _acclimate_ , as she’d put it. But now she took every opportunity to suggest someone else, whether it was some girl from HR, a random guy at the gym…she’d even suggested Maria once, just to laugh at his dumbfounded (and terrified, if he was being honest) reaction to the idea.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, before he thought better of it.

“What?” she asked, but the sudden tension that filled the air told him she knew exactly what he meant.

“Try to set me up with people all the time,” he answered. “We have the same job, you know it’s not that easy.”

She was quiet for a long time. “I just…don’t want you to be alone.” She paused and took a long breath. And then, barely above a whisper, she added, “Like I am.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, but the ache in his chest was back. It didn’t make sense. _Alone?_ She was far from it. He liked to think the two of them were friends, even if they did butt heads every once in a while. Fury obviously cared for her more than he did the average SHIELD agent. And besides, she _had_ friends, didn’t she? Maria, for one, and from what he understood she got along pretty well with Tony and his girlfriend. She had Barton, at the very least.

But maybe that was all on the surface, with Clint being the obvious exception. What had she said to him earlier? _Truth is a matter of circumstance._

She didn’t want that for him.

“I’m not alone,” he said finally. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He _knew_ people, but they were mostly acquaintances. Or coworkers. He and Tony weren’t necessarily friends, and he supposed Peggy didn’t really count. “I have you.”

She just sighed.

“You can do much better than me, Rogers.”

“Nat-“

“Sorry,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “My head really hurts.”

It was a half-assed excuse; she’d _never_ admit to being hurt that easily. But he let it go.

“It seems like you’re feeling better. You should get some sleep.” She didn’t respond, just shifted uncomfortably again. Steve gently pushed her forward enough to slide his arm around her back. “I’ll wake you up in two hours.”

She fell asleep quickly, eventually falling to lay her head in his lap. Steve started to get a bit drowsy himself, so he busied himself with listening to their surroundings. If SHIELD hadn’t found them yet they were probably in the clear, but he couldn’t risk accidentally dozing off, just in case.

After about two hours of silence and no obvious signs of SHIELD following them, he shook her awake. She resisted, frowning and groaning when he called her name, but eventually pushed herself up and blinked sleepily at him.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I just smashed my head against a concrete wall,” she grumbled. “What time is it?”

“Around midnight, I think,” he answered. He had a pretty decent internal clock, but he didn’t didn’t have his phone so he couldn’t be sure. Even if it hadn’t fallen out of his pocket at some point after the explosion, he wouldn’t have risked turning it on in case they tracked it. Natasha just nodded. She seemed to have slept off most signs of her concussion, but still seemed a bit groggy and out of it. “Think you can walk?”

“Probably,” she replied. “You even know where we are?”

“Nope.”

“Well you’re the man with the plan, so you should probably come up with something.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Who do we trust?” Her brows creased into a frown.

“Clint. Tony. Hill?” She winced. All terrible options.

“Tony would be a risk, we need to be careful about this. And quiet.” He paused. ”Hill is probably underground. And Barton?”

“Out of town,” Natasha replied, and left it at that. “Anyone else?”

Steve took a deep breath, thinking hard. He didn’t have anyone besides the Avengers, really. Except…

“Sam,” he said. She raised an eyebrow.

“The…guy you met running?” Steve nodded, and Natasha shook her head. “We need to discuss your standards for trusting people.”

“He’s a good guy. A vet. I just…” Steve sighed. She had a point, but there was something about Sam he’d been instantly drawn to. “I trust him.”

Natasha eyed him for a few seconds, but finally gave in, letting out a long breath.

“Fine. But if he’s a Hydra sleeper, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll take it. Uh-“ He frowned when the realization hit him. “I don’t know where to find him. He works at the VA, but-“

“But it’s the middle of the night, tomorrow is Sunday so it’s closed, and you didn’t look him up immediately like I did, so you don’t have his home address?”

Steve could only stare at her, dumbfounded. “Something like that.”

She smirked at him, sat up a bit, and reached around to pull her phone out of her back pocket.

“Is that safe?” he asked, eyeing it worriedly, and she just shrugged.

“I hacked it the second they gave it to me. It’s secure, I promise. Completely untraceable.” Steve nodded, but it still made him nervous. He was silent while she searched. “He’s in the city. Not too far from your apartment actually.”

“Will SHIELD think we’re stupid enough to go back to the city?”

“Probably not.” Natasha glanced up from her phone, squinting her eyes at him. “Have you slept?”

“I’m fine.” Steve brushed her off, but she just watched him for a few more seconds, unconvinced. “I can go a while without sleep.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

Of _course_ he hadn’t. Nick Fury had been murdered in his apartment. He wasn’t even allowed to go back to it, so he’d stayed at SHIELD instead. But the bunks there were uncomfortable, tiny twin beds designed for someone with a much smaller frame than his.

Even if he _had_ been able to get comfortable, the sounds of bullets ripping through brick and wood and drywall echoed in his mind; something about the piercing gaze of the the Winter Soldier’s cold, steel-blue eyes as he caught Steve’s shield with a _clang_ haunted him; Natasha, shaking just enough for him to notice, eyes sparkling with tears she refused to let anyone see, sent waves of guilt through him even though he knew that, logically, there wasn’t much he could have done in the moment to prevent Fury’s death.

He hadn’t slept much the night before, either. It had been a while since Bucky had visited him in his dreams, but he’d seen an advertisement for that ridiculous exhibit about him and something had just…snapped. Bucky in his army gear, Bucky as a teenager in the streets of their Brooklyn neighborhood, Bucky falling just shy of his grip, screaming as he plummeted to his death. It kept him up almost all night, and for some reason - instead of going home to cool down after that disaster of a mission - he decided to finally visit the Smithsonian.

It hadn’t helped, only worsened the persistent ache in his chest. So he’d hopped on his bike to clear his head and ended up four hours north, suddenly sitting in the parking lot of Peggy’s nursing home. Much like the last few times he’d visited her, she only had a few real minutes of lucidity, and he’d had to explain to her three times how he’d survived the crash. He felt worse on the drive home than he had all day.

And then Nick Fury had gotten shot through the walls of his apartment and all hell broke loose.

“Steve, you need to sleep.” Natasha’s voice snapped him out of the haze he hadn’t realized he was in, and he blinked over at her. Maybe she was right. “I feel okay, and it’s still early. We have time. And the longer we stay put, the farther they’ll think we went.” He sighed. He couldn’t argue with that. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch for a few hours.”

Steve held her gaze for a few long seconds, but finally gave in and sank back against the wall again, letting out a long breath.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Wake me up in an hour.”

“I’ll wake you up when I think you’ve slept enough,” Natasha replied sternly, but she still offered him half a smile and turned so she could sit next to him. She crossed her legs and leaned her arm against his.

“An hour. Then we get going.”

“Just go to sleep, old man.” Steve rolled his eyes before he closed them and rested his head back against the wall.

Sleep _did_ sound nice. He tried to calm his mind, try to actually take advantage of the opportunity to rest before they had to go find a car and drive several hours back to DC, but his ears were still picking up too many sounds, distracting him, so he focused on Natasha’s soft breaths next to him.

“I have another question,” she said suddenly, her voice low. He wanted to laugh.

“I thought you wanted me to sleep.”

She ignored him. “You lied before. She was your last kiss before today, right?”

Every muscle in his body tensed, thrown off by the question. He hadn’t mentioned Peggy to her - to anyone, for that matter, even Stark, who had apparently grown up with her around - but he supposed Natasha probably knew a lot more about him than he thought she did.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to-“

“It’s okay.” He let out a long breath. “Yeah, she was.”

Natasha thought about that for a few seconds. “Did you love her?”

It was something he’d tried not to think about since he woke up two years ago. Of course, he didn’t think he’d necessarily know if he _did_ love Peggy. He’d never got an opportunity to experience what it felt like to love someone long enough to recognize it for what it was. Bucky was _always_ in love, or so he said, always trying to woo some girl or another. But that wasn’t real, wasn’t the same kind of thing he might have had with Peggy if things had turned out differently.

“Maybe,” he answered finally. “Never really got a chance to find out.”

Natasha was silent, but tilted her head so that it rested against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He let himself picture Peggy, eyes young and fiery and bright, smiling at him with red lips behind a steaming cup of tea. Even when they were in the middle of nowhere, she somehow always had her favorite black tea imported from England and a tube Besame Victory Red.

And then the thought crossed his mind and instantly shattered the image in his mind.

“Do you think she knew?” he blurted out, before he even had a chance to let the idea fully form in his brain. “She founded SHIELD. She was-“

“Fury didn’t,” Natasha said softly, cutting him off. He let that sink in for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure how true that was - it seemed like he’d at least been suspicious but who knew for how long - but them reminded himself that Peggy wasn’t Nick Fury. She was a soldier, not a spy, and she’d never taken value in keeping secrets. At least not while he’d known her. “You worry too much,” Natasha decided finally, settling herself against him a bit more. “Go to sleep.”

“Then stop asking me invasive questions and let me,” he grumbled, and she huffed out a soft laugh.

It took a while, but Steve finally fell asleep. Natasha let him for a few hours, taking the time to contact Clint. She sent him an encrypted message, simply telling him to stay home, trust no one but her, and to wait for a follow up. His address didn’t technically exist thanks to Nick, and neither did Laura or the kids, but she couldn’t be too sure of anything right now. At least he’d been at home and not in DC when everything inevitably started blowing up.

She woke Steve around three-thirty. She’d had enough time to figure out where they were, and that there was a small town about a mile away. They left their little safehouse and traveled north through the woods until, sure enough, the trees started to thin and houses appeared more and more frequently. Steve found a sedan in a driveway and then they were back on the highway heading towards DC.

It was a quiet ride. Natasha drifted off a few times, attempting to sleep off the persistent ache pounding through her head. She didn’t feel as out of it as she had earlier, which she was grateful for; but it was still too uncomfortable, being aware of how little control she had over her own mind but not able to do anything about it. It reminded her too much of that awful period breaking out of the Red Room’s conditioning, like watching from the backseat while someone else took control.

All she could really remember was the explosion and hitting her head. She recalled Steve waking her up the first time, but it was a blur. The next clear thought she’d had was waking up to a pounding headache, curled up in Steve’s lap while he kept watch.

The headache had continued, ranging from a dull ache at the base of her neck to an intense pounding that made her vision fuzzy. It was a good thing Steve was apparently rested enough to drive them back to DC, because - as much as she didn’t want to admit it - she was in no condition to do so herself.

It was just nearing eight by the time they reached the city. Steve dumped the car in an apartment parking lot a few blocks away from Sam’s address and they walked the rest of the way, Natasha gritting her teeth against the sunlight causing a new ache behind her eyes.

 _Just a little bit farther_ , she told herself, over and over again. She hoped Steve didn’t notice - she didn’t need him worrying about her right now - but the subtle way his hand hovered by the small of her back while they walked and guided her up Sam’s back steps told her otherwise.

Steve knocked and not long after Sam Wilson lifted the blinds, peering curiously at them through the window for a second before pulling the door open.

“Hey man,” he greeted uncertainly.

“I’m sorry about this,” Steve breathed. “We need a place to lay low.”

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” she added as an explanation. Sam glanced between the two of them, considering. He didn’t necessarily look alarmed, just concerned.

“Not everyone,” he said finally, and stepped aside to let them in. Steve’s hand was on her back again, gently nudging her forward into the house. It was still early enough that most of the blinds were closed, and the darkness was a relief against the throbbing in her head.

“You okay?” Steve asked lowly behind her, while Sam took a quick glance outside to make sure they weren’t followed.

“Fine,” she replied shortly, but still leaned back against the island countertop and closed her eyes. It seemed to help a little, at least.

“You guys look like shit,” Sam said, once he’d shut and locked the door behind them. “What the hell happened?”

“SHIELD blew up a building on top of us,” Natasha explained, before Steve could feed him some cover about not wanting to get him involved. It was too late for that now and they needed all the help they could get. She heard Steve sigh and opened her eyes. “Do you have any aspirin?” Sam nodded and crossed the room to dig in one of the cabinets for a bottle of medication and a glass for some water.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve asked, eyeing her worriedly while she gulped down the pills and sat the half-empty glass of water on the counter next to her.

“I’ve had a concussion before, Rogers. I’m fine,” she snapped, a bit more harshly than she meant to.

“There’s a guest room down the hall if you guys wanna clean up,” Sam offered. Natasha instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Headache or not, they still barged into this guy’s house and involved him in something he probably didn’t want to be involved in.

“Thank you,” she replied, with as much sincerity as she could muster.

Steve insisted she go first, so she retreated to the room Sam had indicated. Light streamed in through the curtains, but it was soft enough that, mixed with the calming blue painted on the walls, it didn’t worsen her already throbbing head. She headed straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, grateful for a few moments alone.

She pulled off her jacket and sweatshirt, both of which were caked with soot, and dumped them on the floor. Then she finally looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, tangled and filled with debris. She hadn’t put on much makeup the day before, but not much of it remained. Soot covered her face and neck and her mascara was smudged under her eyes, exaggerating the already present dark circles.

She really _did_ look like shit.

Finally she peeled off the rest of her clothes, pulled her hair up with the hair tie around her wrist, and stepped into the shower. The scalding hot water burned her skin but soothed her aching muscles. She stood there for probably much too long, letting the water cascade over her like it could burn away all of the cloudiness looming over her.

It didn’t work, and it crashed into her too quickly to stop. The dread, the guilt, and the ache of betrayal in her chest overwhelmed her and she slid to the floor, leaning her back against the cool tile of the shower. She shook with painfully silent sobs, the ragged breaths burning in her throat.

Everything she’d known had been a lie. Since the age of five when her parents were murdered and she was dragged into the Red Room, she’d been lied to. They’d brainwashed her, turned her into a killing machine, and ripped every ounce of herself away until she was an empty shell who followed orders and didn’t question them.

And then James came along and taught her what it was like to be human, to feel and to love and to think for herself. They’d ripped him away from her too, taking back the control they never really lost and forcing her to watch him forget her, to look into his eyes and see nothing.

After that she’d gone willingly. She followed orders and let herself became more and more ruthless because what was the point, anyway?

Years later, Clint showed up and saved her life. He and Laura brought her into their home and saw the good in her that wasn’t even supposed to exist. They’d cared for her in a way she couldn’t remember anyone else doing before. Clint rode out the nightmares, the confusion, the withdrawal from treatments she didn’t even know they’d been giving her, the debilitating grief and regret and guilt that came with finally breaking free of all the shit the Red Room had done to her. He opened up about his own past, his own struggles to become a better person after a hellish childhood, the way Phil Coulson saved his life much like he’d saved hers.

He pushed her through all of it, month after hazy, nightmarish month. He helped her accept the fact that she would never be able to wipe out all the red that stained her past, but that joining SHEILD and fighting for the good guys instead was at least a step in the right direction. She’d truly believed that, and used it to silence the ever-present guilt that haunted her every minute of every day.

But it was a lie. _All of it._ Even if Fury didn’t know, if Phil didn’t, if Clint didn’t…it was still a lie. She’d invested so much - her time, her talents, her metal health - to an organization just as bad as the one she’d left. From one group of terrorists to another. For fifteen years she’d been trying to convince herself that eventually she’d make up for everything she’d done, all the blood on her hands, but all she’d done was add more.

Did they know? Did the World Security Council allow Fury to let her stay with SHIELD so Hydra could take advantage of her skills? Did they know what she could do, how well she’d follow direction and take orders without question? SHIELD didn’t know everything, of course, but she knew they had a decent amount of information about who she was before Clint brought her in. Enough to know she was a threat. That entire period of time was so frustratingly fuzzy to her that she could have told them things she doesn’t remember revealing, things they could have been using against her for years without her knowledge.

They didn’t know how far the corruption went, either. She didn’t give her trust out easily but those she did give it to also had her loyalty. SHIELD knew this, knew how loyal she was to Clint, to Phil, to Nick, and more recently, to Steve. SHIELD - _Hydra_ \- could have been taking advantage of it for years without any of them knowing. Forcing her to do things that benefitted them. Manipulating her. Making her think she was doing good.

For fifteen years she thought she’d been free. It was all a _fucking lie_.

She had no idea how long she sat there, water pouring over her, shaking violently with tears streaming down her face. It took her realizing that the water had run cold and she was freezing to finally snap herself out of it and turn off the shower.

When she stepped back into the bathroom most of the fog had already dissipated. She stared at herself in the mirror again, eyes red, her hair falling out of its messy bun and dripping onto her shoulders despite her failed attempt to keep it dry. She dried herself off, wiping the remaining soot from her skin, and mindlessly redressed in her jeans and tank top. The jacket was ruined, torn and singed on the edges, but at least the sweatshirt - Clint’s that she’d stolen last time she’d visited him - would be fine after washing it.

Natasha could hear Steve and Sam talking out in the kitchen when she pushed the bathroom door open and re-entered the guest room. Steve must have heard her come out because he appeared in the door shortly after.

“Sorry. No more hot water.” Her voice was still raspy from crying, but if he noticed, he didn’t bring it up. Instead he offered her a small smile, insisted it was fine, and disappeared into the bathroom.

She sat on the bed, pulling her hair down and running her hands through it to loosen the knots. Sam brought her a duffel bag of things his sister had left at his place, told her to help herself and dropped it on the floor before retreating back to the kitchen.

Steve had left the door to the bathroom open, and Natasha glanced up in time to see him pull off the t-shirt up over his head, leaving him in his jeans and undershirt. He’d been incredibly calm, considering. He gave up literally _everything_ he had to stop this. He nosedived into the arctic with a plane full of missiles, expecting to die just to save the world, only to wake up sixty eight years later to find that it hadn’t changed a damn thing. She was trained - _raised_ \- to conceal her emotions, and even she was having an incredibly difficult time not allowing them to betray her.

Steve Rogers was in no way more calm and collected than she was, in any situation. Ever. It made her uncomfortable.

She hadn’t realized she was staring at him until he caught her gaze in the mirror. She immediately averted eyes and brought her towel up to her hair to squeeze the rest of the moisture out of it. She heard the water running but didn’t look back, staring instead at a spot low on the wall outside the bathroom while she dried her hair.

Once he finished washing his face and hands, the water turned off and she felt his eyes on her. She finally braved a glance up at him where he was standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied.

She must not have been too convincing because he turned, threw the towel in his hands back onto the bathroom counter, and crossed the room. Natasha averted her gaze again. _Shit_. Keeping quiet was one thing, but if he started trying to get her to talk, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to hold herself together.

There was a low wooden clothes hamper against the wall across from her and she didn’t let herself glance back up at him until he’d sank down into it.

“What’s goin’ on?”

For all her effort trying not to look him in the eyes, it was suddenly all she could do. They weren’t demanding, just calmly waiting for whatever answer she was willing to give him. Her heart thumped in her chest, and before she could stop herself, the words were pouring out of her mouth.

“When I first joined SHIELD I thought I was going straight.” Her voice cracked and suddenly Steve’s stare was too much, so she focused on the wall again. “But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra.” She paused, staring down at her shaking hands, and took a ragged breath. “I _thought_ I knew whose lies I was telling, but…” She shrugged, eyes flitting up to meet his again. He was still watching her, so she let them drop back down to the floor. “I guess I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business.”

She breathed out a laugh. She couldn’t help it. The corner of his mouth ticked up into a soft smile and her heart swelled in her chest.

They should have died. He’d grabbed her and shoved her in front of him. Took the brunt of the impact to his back. Used every ounce of strength he had to prevent them from getting crushed. Protected her with his own body. Ran for miles with her nothing but dead weight in his arms. Practically babysat her in that house, making sure she stayed alive and alert and watching over her for hours while she slept, all while keeping an eye out for the STRIKE team, ready to fight them if necessary to keep her safe. She’d be dead if it wasn’t for him.

He should have just left her. He would have gotten away much quicker, been able to get back to the city hours ago. She had no doubt in her mind that he could take down Hydra with his bare hands. He’d done it before, after all. He didn’t need her help, didn’t need her holding him back.

But he didn’t leave her. He saved her life.

“I owe you,” she breathed finally.

“It’s okay,” he he promised, brushing it off with a shake of his head.

Her heart thumped in her chest, her mind spinning.It _wasn’t_ okay, not at all. After New York, after working together for two years, after she spent weeks lying to him and years before he came out of the ice working for the very people he died to stop… _no wonder he doesn’t trust me._

He’d probably thought she was one of them. That it would have been so easy for her to play the long game, get exactly what Hydra needed, and lure him into a trap even he wasn’t supposed to escape from. Assume he’d sacrifice himself to save her if need be, let her walk away, and hand them the flash drive when it was all over. It would have been so easy, even now, for her to have called up the STRIKE team and told them where they were.

It was what she was best at, wasn’t it? Following orders.

“If it was the other way around…” Her voice cracked again and she took a shaky breath. “And it was down to me to save _your_ life, can you be honest with me…?” He heart rate skyrocketed, pounding wildly. She didn’t even know what possessed her to ask him. She knew the answer. “Would you trust me to do it?”  
“I would now.” He didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t even think about it. She could only stare at him. He gave her another soft smile, one that made her heart practically flip in her chest and a warmth pool up in the pit of her stomach and spread through her veins. “And I’m always honest.”

His eyes sparkled, glittering blue from the sunlight streaming through the slats of the blinds. She’d never noticed how they crinkled in the corners a little bit when he smiled, or that they weren’t just blue…they were blue and green and teal and silver and all of the shades in between, and all of a sudden they were staring at her like she was the most amazing thing they’d ever seen in all of their ninety five years.

Her own eyes involuntarily flicked down to his lips, remembering what they felt like, how they’d moved so perfectly against hers regardless of how unprepared he’d been. When she’d asked him if that had been his first kiss in sixty-eight years, he’d taken it the wrong way. He thought it meant he was terrible at it. But the way he was looking at her, she suddenly had an overwhelming urge to grab him and pull him over and show him exactly how wrong he was.

And then it finally dawned on her how truly, completely compromised she was.

_Shit. Shitshitshit._

“Well, you seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothin’.”

She was panicking. Deflecting with an inappropriately timed joke to distract herself. _Like always._

“Well.” He leaned back against the wall with a humorless smile, finally breaking eye contact, if only for a second. _Thank god_. “Guess I just like to know who I’m fighting.”

“I made breakfast,” came Sam’s voice as he appeared in the doorway, to Natasha’s relief. “If you guys…eat that…sort of thing.”

He glanced between the two of them curiously before he left, and Steve nodded back towards the kitchen. He stood and Natasha followed suit, but before she had enough sense to tell herself not to, she reached for him.

“Wait-“ Steve glanced back at her and she pulled her hand away, her fingertips practically burning where they’d briefly touched his arm. He raised an eyebrow at her when she didn’t say anything else. Quickly she leaned into the bathroom and grabbed the towel, still damp from when he’d washed his face. “You’re a mess. Hold still.”

Steve huffed out a laugh but she got to work running the washcloth over his skin, taking extreme care not to let her fingers slip from it and make contact again. She had no idea how he had dirt and sootabsolutely _everywhere,_ but he hadn’t cleaned himself up at all besides getting most of it off of his face. She finished with his back and arms and finally made her way to stand in front of him. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her carefully, but she ignored it, concentrating completely on wiping clean his shoulders.

“There.”

“Thanks.” Natasha swallowed hard and finally lifted her gaze, meeting the amused look in his eyes. He was only inches away from her and she felt a sudden wave of irrational panic at the thought of him being able to hear how hard her heart was thumping. He stared down at her and she noticed his eyes flick down to her lips. She pulled the bottom one under her teeth and bit down hard. _Turn around. Walk away. What the_ fuck _are you doing?_

“Hey Steve, I have some clothes for you if you want them,” Sam suddenly called from the next room.

That snapped him out of it. He blinked and backed away from her a few steps, shooting her one last uncertain look before turning and practically sprinting out of the bedroom.

_Shit._

Once he was gone Natasha grabbed the bag that Sam had offered her earlier and escaped into the bathroom once again. Thankfully his sister had left a straightener in it so she plugged it in and busied herself with smoothing down her hair. She didn’t really care if it curled, but at least it was a distraction that would give her an excuse to stay away from Steve for a few minutes while she calmed herself down.

When she finally talked herself into emerging from the guest room, Steve had taken a seat at the kitchen table, freshly changed into a soft blue t-shirt and khakis, a look that was so much more _him_ than what she’d dressed him in the day before. She tried not to think about how damn good he looked in blue - something that crossed her mind every time he put on that goddamn SHIELD suit - but as a result found herself staring at him just a few seconds too long. He thankfully hadn’t noticed.

“How’s the headache?” Sam asked her. She glanced over to where he was sliding bread into the toaster. For the first time she realized it had mostly gone away, reduced to just a light, dull ache around the spot where she’d smashed it against the concrete.

“Better actually, thank you,” she replied, offering him a grateful smile, before turning to Steve. “What now?”

He was already back in business mode, staring off into space with a deep crease between his brows.

“Hydra,” he answered. “Zola clearly isn’t in charge, not anymore at least. But who is?”

Sam was watching them from across the kitchen. Steve must have filled him in while she showered.

“So…the question is, who at SHIELD can launch a domestic missile strike.”

Steve let out an irritated sigh. “Pierce.”

 _Of course_.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world,” Natasha countered, leaning back against the counter while she thought about that. There was no touching Alexander Pierce, if he really _was_ at the head of all of this. Going after him directly was a disaster waiting to happen, plus they didn’t even know how deeply Hydra was embedded into SHIELD.

“He’s not working alone. Zola’s algorithm was on the Lumerian Star-”

Something in her brain clicked and she gasped. He paused and glanced over at her.

“So was Jasper Sitwell.”

Sitwell, who kept showing up where he wasn’t supposed to be. Sitwell, who seemed to have his hands in everything. Sitwell, who had nothing to do with the STRIKE team, yet had come into contact with them an unnecessary amount times over the last few days.

And Batroc…she suddenly knew why she recognized him. She’d encountered him before, years ago. Before the Battle of New York, before they’d found Steve in the ice. He’d escaped from super-max a month ago. It wasn’t her department so she hadn’t known the details, just that he’d somehow disappeared without a trace.

How convenient.

They already knew Nick had planted the pirates for an excuse to get her on the ship. Batroc blew up the command center of the Lumerian Star, and Zola’s algorithm had gone with it. They had the only copy. Whatever they were planning clearly relied on it. The STRIKE team had noticed Natasha’s disappearance, saw the explosion on the ship. Hydra knew exactly what Nick was doing. They killed him for it and came up empty.

And then they’d gone after the one person they knew Nick Fury would trust: Captain America.

_Holy shit._

Alexander Pierce was Hydra. Jasper Sitwell. The STRIKE team. James, who had been ordered to kill Fury and retrieve what he’d stolen from them…by Pierce.

Steve glanced over at her, mouth gaping open as it all clicked in his mind too. They needed to find Sitwell. He was their best bet.

“So…the _real_ question is, how do two of the most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

Sam suddenly swiped something off of the counter next to him and rounded the island.

“The answer is: _you_ don’t.” He dropped a file onto the table in front of Steve.

“What’s this?” Steve asked, leaning forward to take a better look at it.

“Call it a resume.”

Steve stood, glancing back up at Sam, giving Natasha a chance to reach over and grab the photo sitting on top of the file. “Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission…that was you.” She remembered hearing about it on the news. Sam nodded, and Steve took the photo from her. “You didn’t say he was a para-rescue,” she added, impressed.

“Is this Riley?” Steve asked, staring down at the photo for a few seconds, then over at Sam.

“Yeah.”

“Heard they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPGs,” Natasha continued. She glanced over at Sam. “What’d you use, a stealth chute?”

“No.” He stepped forward and picked up the file they’d left sitting on the table, handing it to Steve. “These.”

Steve skimmed the front page of the file, then lifted his eyes to meet Sam’s again. “I thought you said you were a _pilot_.”

Natasha leaned over curiously. Sam grinned.

“I never said pilot.”

The diagrams looked almost like a jet back of some sort, some kind of suit, but not anything similar to Iron Man and War Machine’s. Giant propellers protruded from each side…like wings.

Steve considered for a second, then shook his head.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.”

“Dude, Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.”

He had a point. Steve seemed to agree.

“Where can we get our hands on one of these things?”

“The last one is at Fort Meade. Behind three guarded gates and a twelve inch steel wall.”

Steve glanced over at Natasha. She shrugged. That was nothing.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied, dropping the file back down. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“You know who you’re talking to, right?” Steve asked, and Sam turned his gaze to Natasha.

She grinned. “It’ll be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raise your hand if you caught the comic-buckynat reference 🙋
> 
> i'll probably continue the trend of posting on mondays and thursdays, but might slow to once a week, just so i know i have enough written ahead. right now i have all of part two done, and a lot of the rest roughly written, so it should stay pretty consistent! also, thank you SO much for all of the kudos and comments! i really, really appreciate it and each one makes me smile <3
> 
> this was one of my favorite chapters to write and then read back, so i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did!


	5. Chapter 5

Breaking into Fort Meade was simple enough. It was only about thirty-five minutes from Sam’s house so, after breakfast and mapping out plans for their next two missions, they headed to Maryland.

Sam knew the guard at the front desk, so he distracted him with a fake story about how he was in the area and decided to stop by to say hello. It was the middle of the day on a Sunday and the place was pretty deserted, so no one thought twice about an unknown blonde woman in a borrowed Air Force uniform walking the halls.

The vault was a piece of cake and ten minutes after she’d retreated into the building with a stolen ID card, Natasha was passing through the lobby again. The security guard was so distracted by seeing his friend again that he didn’t notice the uniform she wore was bulkier than it was when she’d entered the building.

“Did you get it?” Steve asked the second she slid into the backseat of Sam’s SUV. Natasha shot him a look through the rearview mirror.

“Of course I did.” She pulled the cheap wig off of her head and got to work removing Sam’s uniform. She stored it in the back before unbuckling the wing suit strapped over her tank top. “Eyes front, soldier,” she muttered before she could stop herself, just to see him blush and hastily look away.

“I was looking at the suit,” he mumbled. She just grinned, pulling the suit off awkwardly in the confined space, setting it aside, and pulling her leather jacket back on.

Sam joined them a few minutes later. They started the drive back to DC, leaving his car in the parking lot of the VA and trading it for an inconspicuous Chevy sedan. Natasha had enough access with her own cell phone to discreetly hack into Sitwell’s, where she discovered he was having a late lunch with Senator Stern downtown. They dropped Sam off in the plaza in front of the restaurant while Steve and Natasha found an apartment building across the street with a perfect view of the area.

“Think Stern is Hydra too?” Natasha asked. She leaned forward, resting her elbows against the half wall around the perimeter of the building.

“Probably,” Steve replied bitterly. The burner phone she’d wired to connect to Sam’s was held to his ear, Sam on the other line.

It was probably a good thing he could hear everything they said. Whatever the hell had happened in Sam’s guest room earlier had opened the floodgates, and she was having a much harder time compartmentalizing than usual. Not to mention, the jacket he’d borrowed from Sam looked _really_ good on him. Had they been left alone for any amount of time she probably would have ended up jumping him in the elevator on the way up here.

_What in the hell is wrong with me?_

“Hey, you don’t think…” Steve turned to glance over at her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She tilted her head enough to catch his uncertain gaze. “Hill?”

“No,” Natasha replied immediately, but still the question gave her one more thing to concern herself with. It was getting harder and harder not to question everyone she knew before they had any kind of solid proof. “I don’t know,” she added finally. “Stark?”

“He hates SHIELD.” He had a point. “Coulson?” She gave him a look and he rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I saw him at the Hub a few months ago. He’s not exactly hiding.” Natasha nodded in agreement, but sighed.

“I don’t know. Probably not.” Phil seemed less likely to be Hydra than Stark. He _idolized_ Steve; plus, he had been just as loyal to Nick as she had. She was thinking that over when she realized Steve was staring at her. She glanced over at him again. “What?”

He hesitated, averting his gaze to stare down at the street below them instead. “What about…have you, uh…talked to B-“

“Don’t.” It was out of her mouth before he could even finish saying his name. Her mind had wandered to Clint far too many times in the last twelve hours. He hadn’t responded to her message, sure; but then again, she _had_ told him not to. Logically she couldn’t worry about that…right? Besides, the thought of Clint being one of _them_ … “He’s not. He-“ Natasha closed her eyes and stood upright again, taking a long breath before continuing. _Focus._ “I can’t think about that right now.”

Steve glanced over again, not speaking but instead giving her an understanding nod. He shifted on his feet, adjusting himself towards her just enough to let his fingers brush against her wrist. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her and she froze in retaliation against it. Part of her needed him to immediately put several feet between them, and the other longed for him to keep going and grab her hand, let her squeeze it through another bout of irrational panic.

Steve suddenly straightened and turned his attention back towards the ground. She let that distract her and followed his gaze. A swarm of men in black suits were leaving the building…it had to be them.

“Ready, Sam?” He paused to listen to whatever Sam said, and nodded a few seconds later. The two of them watched as Stern walked away from Sitwell, taking most of the security with him. “He’s making the call.”

Natasha reached into the pocket of her borrowed jacket and pulled out the little laser pointer they’d bought at a gas station earlier. She’d been joking when she suggested using one to make him think they had a sniper, but Steve had _actually_ liked the idea.

“Now.”

Natasha leaned down on her elbows again, squinting towards the ground to take aim. She pointed the laser, pressing the little button on the end and letting it dance right in the middle of Sitwell’s chest.

“I’d rather have an actual sniper rifle pointed at him,” she muttered under her breath. Steve chuckled beside her.

“Patience.” She glanced over at him and grinned when she caught his eye. The next part of the plan had been entirely _his_ idea, and besides being proud of him for thinking of it in the first place, she was thrilled to get the chance to launch Jasper Sitwell off of a building. “Alright, they’re on the move. Three minutes. Let’s go.”

Steve hung up the burner and shoved it in his pocket before turning back towards the door, Natasha following closely behind. He pulled it open for her when they reached it and they took their places on either side of the elevator doors. They waited silently, Natasha focusing on anything but Steve watching her from across the hall.

Approximately two and a half minutes later, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Steve sprang into action, yanking Sitwell out of the elevator and holding him still while Natasha searched him, pulling out his cell phone and tossing it on the ground. Steve stepped on it and it shattered.

He didn’t appear to have any other type of wire on him so Natasha nodded her approval, allowing Steve to yank him backwards again, ignoring his cry of protest. He shoved him forcefully through the door, all but throwing him across the rooftop. Natasha turned and caught Sam’s eye as the elevator door closed again - he needed to ride back down and wait on the ground with the wings - before following Steve.

“Tell me about Zola’s algorithm,” he demanded. Sitwell scrambled to his feet, shoving his glasses back on his face.

“Never heard of it.” They both knew he was lying but he couldn’t hide the sheer terror in his eyes, stumbling backwards as Steve stormed closer.

“What were you doing on the Lumerian Star?”

“I was throwing up. I get seasick.”

He suddenly backed into the half wall, flailing for a second before Steve grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him back up. Natasha watched silently from behind. She’d never seen this side of him - violent, pissed off, forceful - and…

_Focus, dammit_.

It was difficult - much more difficult than she’d prefer to admit - so she tried to look away from him. Sitwell glanced between the two of them, then smirked at Steve.

“Is this little display meant to insinuate that you’re going to throw me off the roof? ‘Cause it’s really not your style, Rogers.”

He was getting confident. Steve just stared at him, then loosened his grip.

“You’re right.” Natasha saw relief flood through Jasper’s eyes. _Idiot_. He was going to be disgustingly easy to crack, which was pathetic considering he was a high ranking officer for an international intelligence agency. Steve smoothed his hands down arms of Sitwell’s jacket. “It’s not.” He stilled, and she could swear she saw the corner of his mouth curve upwards into a smirk. “It’s hers.”

He stepped aside and terror instantly fell over Sitwell’s face again when he’d processed what Steve said. Natasha smiled sweetly at him before kicking him square in the chest. He screamed all the way down.

Steve stifled a laugh, and met her eyes for a brief second. They sparkled with amusement, and the way he was looking at her…scared the shit out of her. She panicked.

“Oh, wait, what about that girl from accounting?” she blurted out. What the _hell_ was she talking about? They just found out they worked for a secret terrorist organization for god’s sake! Setting him up with someone was _not_ a priority right now. Besides, the girl was an idiot. “L-Laura...? Lis-“

“Lillian,” he corrected her, much too quickly for her liking. “Lip piercing, right?”

Steve glanced over at her. He didn’t necessarily look irritated, but he definitely wasn’t amused.

“Yeah, she’s _cute!_ ” she responded with just a _little_ too much enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” he replied flatly. ”I’m not ready for that.”

Natasha opened her mouth to object but suddenly the screams grew louder again and Sam flew past them, curving over their heads and dropping Sitwell in the middle of the rooftop. They turned and approached him, but he threw his hands up in surrender and started talking before Steve had a chance to interrogate him again.

“Zola’s algorithm is a program!” he gasped. _Too easy._ “For choosing the Insight’s targets!”

“What targets?” Steve demanded. Sitwell breathed heavily but didn’t get off the ground.

“You!” He gestured towards Steve. “A TV anchor in Cairo. The other secretary of defense. A high school valedictorian in Iowa City.” Another pause. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange…anyone who’s a threat to Hydra.” Bruce’s name threw her off. What the hell did he have to do with any of this? He was rarely even in the country. And Stephen Strange…she recognized the name, but didn’t know much about the guy. He had made a name for himself in the medical field, and she knew he’d been on Fury’s radar, but he’d fallen off the grid a few months ago. How was _he_ a threat? “Now…or in the future.”

“The _future_?” Steve asked. “How could it know?”

Sitwell laughed. He _laughed_. Natasha wanted to kick him again.

“How could it _not_?” He stood, facing Steve. “The twenty-first century…it’s a digital book. Zola taught Hydra how to read it.” He glanced between the two of them when they didn’t understand. “Your bank records,” he clarified. “Medical histories. Voting patterns. Emails. Phone calls. Your damn SAT scores.”

Natasha’s heart thumped in her chest, and she exchanged a look with Sam. Sam who, as of a few hours ago, was suddenly involved in this mess and was now learning how invasive his government was. But this was news to Natasha, too. SHIELD had their hands in everything, sure, but not…this. This was too much. Too far.

“Zola’s algorithm evaluates peoples’ past…to predict their future.”

“And what then?” Steve asked lowly. The question didn’t need answered. _Hydra’s new world order will arise_. Zola had said that down in the bunker. Natasha was finally realizing what that meant.

“God, Pierce is gonna kill me,” Sitwell muttered, turning away from them. Well, at least that confirmed Pierce was in charge.

“ _What then?_ ” Steve demanded, taking a threatening step towards him. Sam reached out and grabbed the back of Sitwell’s jacket to hold him still. Sitwell glanced back up at him and took a deep breath.

“Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list…a few million at a time.”

The three of them were silent for a few very long, deafening seconds. Sam was horrified, but trying to hide it. Steve just glared at Sitwell, who was back to cowering away from him. Natasha glanced between the three of them, her mind scrambling for a plan. What the hell were they supposed to do with _this_?

“When?” Steve asked finally. Sitwell didn’t respond, just stared up at him with terror-stricken eyes. Steve stepped forward threateningly. “ _Answer me!_ ”

“Tomorrow!” he breathed. “Tomorrow morning! Ten A.M.!”

Natasha glanced down at her phone. It was almost five-thirty. Steve caught her eye, and the look on his face told her they were both thinking the same thing. _They were running out of time_.

“Let’s go,” Steve said, reaching out suddenly and grabbing Sitwell by the arm. “You know how to get to the Triskelion from here?” he asked Sam, who nodded.

“Are you _crazy!?_ ” Sitwell exclaimed as Steve yanked him back towards the door. “Every available agent we have is looking for you two. You really think you can waltz right in and-“

“Oh my god, shut the _fuck_ up,” Natasha cut in suddenly, before she could stop herself. Sitwell glanced over at her, shrinking farther into Steve’s grip. “You know, I’ve wanted to say that for years, but I couldn’t because you outrank me.” She smirked at him. “Worth it.”

Steve snorted out a laugh as he led them back into the building and into the elevator. Sitwell, who she knew had always been terrified of her, kept his mouth shut.

The car was parked directly in front of the building, so once they reached the ground they piled inside of it. Sam took the wheel, Steve in the passengers seat with his shield positioned against the door just in case, leaving Natasha to keep a hold of Sitwell in the back.

Everyone had a vague idea that she was at least slightly enhanced (based purely on rumors, of course), but in all her years at SHIELD, she was pretty sure no one besides Fury and Clint knew she had a knockoff Super Soldier Serum running through her veins. She wasn’t as strong as Steve, of course, but she also didn’t hold back as much as he did. As Sam pulled the car into the street, Sitwell glanced down on her hand wrapped tightly around his arm - _much_ tighter than Steve had been holding him, probably - and then up at her with a horrified look on his face. She just raised an eyebrow at him and settled down in her seat.

They weren’t too far from the Triskelion, only about ten minutes if they didn’t go through town, so Sam pulled onto the highway. They were going fast enough at that point that Natasha had let go of Sitwell’s arm, and he’d taken to pouting next to her instead.

“Hydra doesn’t like leaks,” he said finally. Natasha rolled her eyes. He probably thought they were going to protect him now. In actuality, Natasha would have been perfectly happy pushing him out of the car while they were going 70 miles an hour.

“Then why don’t you try sticking a cork in it,” Sam countered. Natasha ignored Sitwell and leaned forward, resting her chin on Steve’s seat.

“The Insight’s launching in sixteen hours.” She glanced over at Sam. “We’re cutting it a little close here.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. Natasha turned back to him, quickly realizing how close she was to him again and falling back into her seat.“We’ll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the helicarriers directly.”

“ _What_?” Sitwell exclaimed. “Are you _crazy!?_ That is a terrible, _terrible_ idea-“

A loud _THUD_ on the top of the car cut him off. Sam jumped, jerking the wheel a bit. Steve glanced up at the roof, and a split second later, glass shattered. Natasha covered her face and just barely got a glimpse of a gloved metal arm reaching in through the window before Sitwell was ripped through it and into oncoming traffic.

She stared out the window in horror. James was hanging off the side of the car, and before he could hoist himself back up on top of it, he reached down and pulled a gun out of his holster.

Her blood ran cold in her veins. _Fuck._

She lunged forward, a bullet ripping through the roof and into the backseat of the car right where she’d been half a second earlier. She climbed into Steve’s lap and yanked him down, pulling his face against her chest and covering the back of his head with her hands as another bullet hit his headrest. Then she kicked her foot out, her heel landing on Sam’s shoulder and pushing him sideways. Steve’s head flew back up and he shot a panicked glance at her before whipping his head around just in time to see a third bullet rip through Sam’s headrest only inches from his ear.

Steve reached around Natasha’s leg and grabbed the emergency break, forcing it backwards, and the car skidded to a stop. Natasha fell forward, her face narrowly avoiding a collision with his. When the car stilled she glanced up at him, but when she saw the expression on his face, she whipped her head in the direction he was staring. James had been flung off the top of the car and landed on the pavement in front of them.

He stood slowly, flexing his metal arm and tilting his face upwards, staring at them through a mask while cars sped by on either side. Her heart thumped, so fast she was certain Steve could feel it from where he was underneath her. James was just standing there, not reaching for a single weapon. It made her uneasy.

She finally had the sense to reach behind her and pull out the pistol she’d shoved into the waistband of her jeans earlier. She hastily clicked the safety off and leaned back, just far enough to extend her arm and take aim. She inhaled, time slowing down for a split second while she focused. Her pistol lined up with James knee and she slid her finger onto the trigger.

The car suddenly jolted again, this time from behind, and the gun flew from her hand. More glass shattered and she turned her head to bury her face into Steve’s shoulder. He wrapped a protective arm around her, tight enough to keep her from flying through the windshield.

They were being pushed from behind, she realized, straight towards the spot where James was standing int he middle of the highway. When she finally lifted her head, Sam was trying to twist the steering wheel to the side to pull them free. It wasn’t doing much.

James leaped, twisting his body and landing on the top of the car. Sam slammed uselessly on the brakes and Natasha reached down between Steve’s legs, frantically feeling around for her pistol. She could have sworn she’d heard it clatter to the floor with the impact of the SUV a second ago.

The windshield suddenly shattered, and she shielded her face against the spray. James’ hand came flying through it, grabbing the steering wheel and ripping it clean off.

“ _Shit!”_ Sam yelled.

Natasha finally felt the barrel of her gun against her fingers and pulled it up, spinning it around and aiming towards the roof of the car. She fired a few shots upwards, but all they did was rip through the metal and fly uselessly through the air as James jumped again, this time landing on the SUV behind them.

The back of the car finally detached from the SUV, and without a steering wheel, they wobbled back and forth. Their sedan veered off towards the right, scraping against the barrier a few times, before the van rammed them again and they went flying out of control.

The car turned and slid all the way across three lanes, tilting sideways and bouncing against the opposite barrier. Steve twisted under her and she felt something cold against her back; he’d slid his arm into the straps of his shield. She forgot it had been lodged between them and the door. He reached out with his other hand, grabbing her jacket roughly and yanking her towards him.

“Hang on!” he called, curling the fingers holding the strap of his shield tightly around her arm, tucking her safely between his chest and the shield. He grabbed for Sam just as car lifted up into the air. Natasha’s stomach lurched, and he braced herself against Steve, curling into him, holding tight to his jacket with one hand and her gun with the other.

And then they were falling.

Steve slammed his shield against the passenger door and it came loose as the car flew through the air. They landed hard on the ground, Sam’s body smashing against her, pushing all the air out of her lungs. They slid down the highway on what remained of the car door underneath them, Steve maneuvering his shield out in front of them for protection against the gravel, debris, and probably gunfire. Sam flew sideways and Steve flung his body over Natasha to reach uselessly for him as he rolled across the road. As they slowed, Steve twisted his body to cover her, holding her firmly between his chest and shield until they came to a complete stop.

As soon as they did, the two of them immediately hopped up from the destroyed door of the car. Natasha had somehow managed to keep hold of her pistol and wrapped her finger around the trigger again, glancing around frantically to find James. The SUV had also come to a stop in front of them, and he was crouching on the hood of it. He hopped off, meeting another man - she recognized him, he worked for SHIELD - who had just climbed out of the backseat. The guy handed James a rocket launcher.

James took aim and fired, so quickly that they barely had time to react.

“Shit _,_ _run!_ ” he yelled, then grabbed her by back of her jacket and forcefully shoved her away. She rammed into the side of a van, turning just in time to see the projectile hit the center of Steve’s shield and launch him backwards. He hit the roof of the sedan behind him and tumbled down off of the highway out of sight. There was a crash from down below, but Natasha and Sam didn’t have a chance to be concerned before a group of SHIELD agents - no, _Hydra_ \- opened fire on them.   
They took cover, Natasha behind the van and Sam behind the sedan Steve had just been flung into. She crouched below the van’s windows and snuck around to the other side, bringing her finger to the trigger of her pistol again. She took a few shots and a couple of them hit, but there was smoke everywhere and they were all wearing bulletproof armor, so it was useless. The group kept advancing, led by James. He still held the rocket launcher and she was able to try for a few more shots before he raised it again.

As it fired she turned and leapt over the divider into the opposite lane. The van she’d just been using for cover exploded, heat cascading over her as she landed on the ground and shielded herself from the spray of glass and metal. She whipped her head up to see another car careening towards her and summersaulted away. They were still shooting at her so she jumped up again, rolling over the hood of another sedan and ducking behind it.

James didn’t remember her, that was clear. But he taught her everything he knew, everything Hydra and Steve and the army had engrained in him. She knew his habits, his tells, his style. She knew _him_.

He was going to fire rocket launcher at her again. There was another car, a convertible, abandoned about twenty feet in front of her. If she headed for that, he’d wait until she was behind it before firing, so the gasoline caused a bigger explosion. A perfect distraction. Plus, none of them cared about Sam. Pierce must have sent him after her and Steve, so he was going to focus on them. If she could lead them away from him…

She took off, dodging the spray of bullets that followed her, and finally ducked behind the convertible. As expected she heard the hiss of the rocket launcher a split second before it hit the underside of the car. She leaped off the edge of the highway as it exploded, twisting herself back towards the overpass and extending her arm. She aimed her right wrist towards the bottom of the highway and folded her finger down to tap a button on her Widow’s Bite. A grappling hook flew out of it, attaching itself to the concrete and catching her fall just before she hit the ground.

She landed on her feet and yanked on the wire. It broke free from the concrete, zipping back into her bracelet, and she took off underneath the overpass. The sun provided her with the perfect angle to reveal the shadows from above her: James, plus a few other figures behind him, aimed and waiting for her. She had the advantage and skidded to a stop just below him, in a spot she could see him but he couldn’t see her, and pulled out the second pistol she had shoved into her boot.

James had lost interest in her and turned his attention to the mess beyond the overpass. She followed his gaze and saw Steve’s shield lying on the ground next to an overturned bus. He adjusted his grip on a new gun - an automatic rifle this time, instead of the rocket launcher - and aimed towards the bus. Before he could take the shot, however, she took her own. The bullet hit the barrier in front of him, sending a spray of concrete flying into his face. He ducked out of sight.

She knew it wouldn’t be for long so she sprinted out from under the overpass and took cover behind the firetruck that must have run into the bus. Just as she turned around, she saw him pop back up and tilt the rifle down, angrily opening fire on the spot she’d just been. His goggles were gone. She must have hit them.

Something about that made her uneasy. It was _ridiculous_. He was trying to kill them, and she was worrying about almost shooting him somewhere fatal? But still, she _couldn’t_ be the one to kill him. She couldn’t live with that, with the guilt of killing James...whether he remembered her or not he was still _her_ James, still Steve’s best friend.

There were still too many civilians behind her, getting distracted by the fight while fleeing from the bus crash or their cars. She needed to distract him, keep him focused on her and minimize collateral damage as much as possible. She aimed lower this time, her bullets smacking into his metal arm and ricocheting off of it. She emptied her guns and twisted back against the truck when he realized where she was. He opened fire again, the bullets ripping through the hood of a car directly behind her but still missing her. When none of them hit he paused and adjusted his grip before going at her again. This time she turned and ran, ducking underneath a car and shooting sideways, off of the street, where she’d have better cover and there were less civilians.

Bullets bounced off the the line of parked cars beside her but she sprinted away from him, running straight in hopes that any stray bullets would hit her instead of a civilian. She braved a glance back at him as she ran. He was going to be pissed.

“ _Can’t they just stand still and let me shoot them?”_ he’d grumbled once, a lifetime ago.

“ _What fun would that be?_ ”

She grinned back at him. She couldn’t help it.

He’d given up, just as she’d predicted. She was his target, not Sam or the civilians running for cover. He’d come after her, and she’d be able to get an advantage.

Sure enough, when she glanced around again, James and his crew of Hydra thugs were gone. She ducked behind a car, trying to get a decent view of what was going on. Something exploded; part of the overturned bus, it looked like. She couldn’t see James but the rest of the guys were shooting at something. Sam had taken James’ place up top, aiming at the Hydra agents. Steve must have emerged from somewhere.

That hadn’t stopped James. He was determined. She saw him stalking towards her, his eyes scanning each and every abandoned vehicle to find her, the rifle replaced with the rocket launcher again. He reloaded it, quickly and methodically, the silver of his fingers glinting in the sunlight as they worked.

A police siren wailed towards them from a cross street and, without so much as a glance, James clicked the magazine back into place and shot a missile at it. The police car went up in smoke and flames, losing control and careening across the street and into another sedan.

James reached into his pocket for another missile and loaded it seamlessly as he passed the burning police car. He kept walking, ignoring the screaming civilians running from their cars and down the street. Natasha’s heart pounded as he got closer. Something about seeing him again, this closely, was both thrilling and terrifying. She quickly assessed his path and developed a plan from there. He still thought she was on the left side of the street. There was enough cover that she could cross it, but she had to throw him off somehow.

He was smart. She’d taught him everything _she_ knew, too.

Suddenly she had an idea. He would be listening for her as well as watching. She pulled her phone out, tapped into the voice recorder, and brought it to her lips.

“I make an LZ, twenty-three hundred block of Virginia Avenue. Rendezvous two minutes. Taking fire above and below expressway. Civilians threatened. Repeat, civilians threatened.” She muttered it quickly and hit save, turned the volume up as high as she could, pressed play, set the it to repeat, and set her phone upright against the tire of the car. Then she took off, rounding the mess of cars with silent footfalls, staying out of view.

James took the bait. He paused behind a second car, eyes narrowing in the direction of her voice, then reached behind his back to pull something out of his belt. It was small and round, probably a grenade. He knelt and rolled it forward, letting it glide across the pavement directly towards the spot she’d been in a few seconds prior. He stood and aimed the rocket launcher again as the car exploded.

The split second he let his guard down, thinking he’d succeeded, was all the distraction she needed.

Natasha hopped up, leaping over the hood of the van she’d been hiding behind, using the leverage to vault towards him. She kicked the gun out of his hands, swinging herself up and around so she landed on top of him. She straddled one of his shoulders, ripping out her grappling hook again. She stretched it out about a foot and a half in length and yanked it backwards towards his neck.

What she didn’t notice was that James had lifted up his real hand in an attempt to shield his face, and it got stuck behind the wire. She pulled harder, trying to slide it up and under his chin, but he stumbled backwards, reaching up with his metal arm and grabbing the back of her jacket. He ripped her away from him and she flew across the road and into the car that had just exploded a few seconds beforehand. She tumbled to the ground with a grunt as her head smacked backwards against the pavement. Pain exploded through her head, then everything went black.

_Get up._

She came to a split second later, but the pain was blinding.

_He’s going to kill you._

She forced her eyes open, the bright blue of the sky sending a fresh wave of agony through her head.

_Get the fuck up!_

Finally, she was able to lift herself up onto her knees just in time to see him pick up the rocket launcher and aim right for her. She reached under her sleeve and pulled out one of her electric disks form her bracelet, activating it and flinging it towards him with deadly accuracy. It landed right on top of his arm, sticking to the metal and sending an electric currant through it.

James buckled, the gun falling from his other hand as he grasped at the disk attached to the metal. She didn’t wait to see if he removed it, instead pouring all her energy into jumping up and sprinting farther down the street. There were still civilians everywhere. _What the hell is wrong with these idiots?_

“Get out of the way!” she screamed at the group of people, gesturing away from her. She knew it wouldn’t take James long to recover. “ _Get out of the way!”_

She curved, looping back around towards the highway. Leading him away from the civilians again. She needed to find Steve, meet up with him and Sam and work together to stop him. James was powerful, but the three of them together were going to be much more effective than facing him alone.

Natasha heard the crash of the bullet through two car windows before she felt it. At first it was just a quick sting, and then suddenly her shoulder erupted in pain. She cried out, collapsing to her knees and flinging her good hand up against the spot where bullet had ripped through her. She fell backwards, pushing herself farther and farther until her back hit the side of a car.

She glanced around frantically, blinking furiously against the blinding pain radiating from both her shoulder and her head. _Where is he?_ Had the shot come from in front of her or behind her? It hurt so much on both sides that she couldn’t tell, but she couldn’t see him anywhere in her immediate view. She breathed shallowly, the air having been sucked straight out of her lungs, her eyes blurring with tears.

_Steve_ , she thought suddenly. Where was he? She hadn’t seen him in a few minutes. _She needed Steve._

Natasha heard a thump from behind that instantly filled her with dread. She whipped herself around to see James, up on the hood of another car, aiming right for her head.

As if he’d heard her silent pleas for help, Steve suddenly came sprinting into her view. He ran straight for James, which was enough of a distraction for him to leave Natasha alone for the moment. James aimed a punch at Steve but he flung his shield out in front of him to block it. The sound of metal on vibranium rang lowly across the street, echoing between the buildings and vibrating in Natasha’s eardrums. She squeezed her eyes shut as it send another blinding ache through her head.

Now that James was concentrating on Steve, who she knew wouldn’t let him near her again, she pushed herself forward, crawling towards another set of abandoned vehicles across the street. She found James’ rocket launcher on the way, still sitting on the ground where he’d dropped it a few moments before. She grabbed it, took a deep breath, and forced herself up off the ground. Her head swam but she blinked it away - _focus, dammit_ \- and took cover behind a van.

When she finally glanced back over at the two of them, it was just in time to see James lift Steve’s shield up in front of him for a split second before launching it towards Steve. He ducked and it sunk cleanly into the side of a work van before they went at each other again. They both moved so quickly, and Natasha marveled at how evenly matched they were. She couldn’t tell if Steve had been the one to teach James how to fight or if it was the other way around, but the way they moved was so similar, not unlike she and Clint when they sparred.

It was making her dizzy.

Steve finally reached his shield again, ripping it out of the side of the van and swinging it around just in time to block a flurry of knife attacks. James landed a punch to Steve’s jaw with his real hand and it knocked him back a few paces. James went at him again and Steve blocked and dodged a few more times before swinging his shield up and lodging the edge of it between the plates of James’ arm.

That kept him still just long enough for Steve to swing the shield up again, smack him in the face, and spin away. He grabbed for James, his palm landing on his face. He yanked it back in an attempt to slam James against the ground, but it slipped. James was launched over Steve’s shoulder, but as he did, the mask covering the bottom half of his face flew off and landed on the ground. James rolled and hopped to his feet before turning back towards Steve, who suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

When the realization hit her, her blood ran cold in her veins and it felt like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. _Fuck._

“Bucky?” he breathed.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” James countered, then whipped his pistol from the holster on his thigh and right for Steve.

Steve wasn’t moving.

Suddenly something dropped from the sky. Natasha tore her eyes away from Steve just in time to see Sam ram his boots into the side of James’ head. James went flying, but still recovered and rolled to his feet to face Steve again.

He hesitated, terror flooding through his eyes. He glanced from Steve to Natasha and back to Steve before whipping the pistol up again.

Natasha raised the rocket launcher and aimed at a truck behind James. Steve finally sprang into action, ducking when he heard the whistle of it behind him. Steve turned and briefly caught her eye, but when they both looked back in James’ direction, he was gone.

She let the gun fall forward and practically collapsed against the back of the truck she’d been hiding behind. She heard sirens in the distance, and to her dismay, realized they were SHIELD vehicles, not police. They swarmed them in all directions, and Steve and Sam both raised their arms.

_Shit_.

Countless agents poured out of the surrounding SUVs. Most of them headed towards Steve, led by Brock Rumlow and the STRIKE team, screaming at him to put his shield down and his hands up. He cooperated, but Rumlow still took the opportunity to kick him hard behind his knees to force him down.

Someone ripped the rocket launcher out of her hands and yanked her arms in front of her so they could snap cuffs around her wrists. One of them grabbed her shoulder and it screamed in agony. She cried out, screwing her face up against the pain, but the guy ignored her and forced her forward towards one of the armored SUVs.

As they marched her and Sam towards the vehicle, Natasha glanced over at Steve again. He was sitting there on his knees as they snapped giant magnetic handcuffs on him. He could have easily broken free, but he wasn’t even trying to resist. He just sat there, guns to his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and all of your sweet comments <3
> 
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	6. Chapter 6

They were loaded into the back of a heavily armored SHIELD truck, and not gently. Sam was already seated on a bench to the left when they shoved Natasha into it, searched her for the flash drive, and pushed her down onto the seat next to him. An agent climbed into the truck and took a seat at the front, and another stood guard by the back.

“You alright?” Sam asked.

“Fine,” Natasha replied through gritted teeth. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall of the truck. She could feel Sam’s eyes on her. God, he was as bad as Steve. “Hit my…hit my head. Again. And I’m…losing a…a lot of blood.”

“We’re not far from the Triskelion. Just stay awake until they can get you to medical.” Natasha let out a low, weak chuckle. “What?

“They’re not taking us to the Triskelion, Wilson.”

She imagined Sam had opened his mouth to protest, but there was movement near the back of the truck. Natasha finally forced her eyes to see Steve being pushed into the van. He was wearing the new mag cuffs SHIELD had been developing. Steve had been the one to test the strength of them, and she happened to know he could still break out of them if he pulled hard enough.

It then occurred to her that they’d probably been developed specifically to restrain _him_.

But he didn’t struggle. He let Rumlow shove him down onto the seat without even the slightest ounce of resistance. They wrapped something around his waist, keeping him secured to the wall of the van, and shackled his ankles. _Like that would hold him._

“How’s the leg, Romanoff?” Rumlow sneered, then bumped forcefully into her knees. It was nothing more than a scar now, so she’d completely forgotten about slicing it open two days ago. Rumlow didn’t know that, of course, so kicking her did nothing but jostle her head against the metal wall of the truck.

“I’m the one you guys want. Not them. Just let them go and I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Come willingly? I think we already have the upper hand here, Cap.” If Natasha had the energy, Rumlow would have received a swift kick in the balls. “Plus, it’s only fair to give your girlfriend the chance to pick a side.”

“Fuck off,” Natasha breathed.

“Suit yourself.”

She received another kick to her leg and they left, leaving just two agents towards the front of the truck. Natasha finally lifted her head to look over at Steve. He was staring at the floor.

“Steve?” His eyes flicked upwards and met hers, but they were clouded and empty. He’d been there for her so many times the last couple days; it felt wrong that she couldn’t do the same for him right now.

 _I should have told him_.

“Someone gonna tell me what’s going on?” Sam glanced between the two of them. “Who was that?”

“Bucky.” The way Sam looked back to Steve, eyes wide and skeptical, told Natasha that he knew exactly who that was.

“Are you sure?”

“It was him.” Steve was staring at the floor again. His voice cracked, and it sent a wave of nausea through her. She didn’t know if it was the guilt or the blood loss. “He looked right at me. And he didn’t even _know_ me.”

“How is that even possible? It was like seventy years ago.”

Natasha raised her eyes. Her lids were heavy, and everything was starting to get fuzzy. Sam’s voice was muffled, and the movement of the car was making her sway back and forth dizzily. Her eyelids fluttered but she fought to keep them open, to focus on Steve.

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured in forty-three. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall.” He paused, his mouth falling open slightly as he put the pieces together. “They must have found him, and-“

“None of that’s your fault, Steve,” she mumbled. The words took the rest of her energy. She swayed again and it was too much, so she finally let her eyes fall shut.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” Steve muttered in response, more to himself than to either of them.

Another pang of guilt shot through her. She _knew_ this was going to happen, knew it from the day she saw that goddamn picture in his apartment two years ago, the one of the two of them in 1944 that he’d had propped up on his mantle. That one day he’d find out James was alive, find out what he’d turned into. That he’d blame himself.

Another wave of nausea hit her and she leaned her head back, screwing up her eyes against the pain radiating through her head and her shoulder and _everywhere_.

She let herself start drifting, because she was just _so tired_. She thought about Clint and wished he was there. He’d patched her up so many times, gotten her out of harm’s way, saved her life, and she’d done the same for him. It seemed wrong, like some kind of cruel joke, that after all the times the two of them had almost died, he wasn’t going to be with her when it actually happened.

And then she thought about Steve, only a few feet away but still out of reach. She wished they had sat her on the other side, so she could reach for him, hold his hand as she fell asleep, have his strong presence next to her telling her it was okay.

“We need to get a doctor here,” she heard Sam say. She tried opening her eyes again, but the ceiling of the truck just swam in front of her and she had to shut them again.

She liked Sam. He was a good guy. SHIELD was no help to them and she knew Hydra was planning on eliminating them immediately as soon as they got somewhere the media couldn’t find them. They didn’t care if she bled out, didn’t care if blood pooled in her brain and she died right there in the back of their truck. It was much better than the alternative, which was probably getting shot in the head by Brock Rumlow while they made Steve watch. Just to torture him, just to make him feel as much pain as possible before doing the same to him.

And she’d be damned if she gave Rumlow the satisfaction of killing her.

So she was glad he had Sam, glad he had someone to help him fight his way out of this after she wasn’t just dead weight anymore. Glad he had someone to trust.

“If we don’t put pressure on that wound she’s gonna bleed out here in the truck-”

Electricity crackled through the air, cutting Sam off. Natasha opened her eyes and turned her head just enough to get a glimpse of one of the agent’s stun batons. The blur of white was blinding and sent a shooting pain through her head, the pressure behind her eyes too much to handle. She was about to close them again when the baton charged again and went straight into the other guard’s chest. He yelped, but the first guard twisted their body and kicked him in the face. His head smacked against the metal wall of the truck and he fell forward off of the seat, thudding to the floor between them.

Natasha squinted against the pain in her head, trying to comprehend what had just happened. When the guard lifted their hands and pulled off their helmet, she wasn’t sure if she was actually seeing Maria Hill or just hallucinating.

“That thing was squeezing my brain,” she muttered, tossing the helmet aside. She glanced at Sam briefly before letting her eyes fall on Steve. “Who’s this guy?”

“Sam Wilson,” Sam answered. “And who are _you_?”

Maria turned back to him with a calculating stare.

“The Deputy Director of SHIELD,” she answered drily.

“Well,” Natasha mumbled. She leaned back against the wall again, drained of energy. “I think that…answers your question of whether…whether or not Maria’s a…a nazi, Steve.”

“ _Definitely_ not,” Maria agreed, disgust coloring her tone. She immediately got to work, first taking off Sam’s cuffs and then Natasha’s.

“You have a plan?” Steve asked, once she’d freed him of his restraints as well.

“About eighty-three percent of one but it’s not going to be fun for all of us.” Natasha opened her eyes and Maria gestured towards her, then pulled something out of her pocket. It was a device, small but long. Natasha recognized it and knew it was perfect for slicing through just about anything, including the floor of moving vehicles. She sighed and closed her eyes again.

“You’re _killing_ me, Maria.”

“Won’t they see us?” Steve asked, once he realized what the plan was.

“Agent 13 is driving the truck behind us.”

“And this agent can be trusted?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Natasha answered, without opening her eyes. In all honesty, she didn’t really _know_ if Sharon Carter was Hydra or not, but the risk of that being a reality was very low and they had to take whatever allies they could get at this point.

Maria got to work slicing a hole through the metal floor. Steve crossed to the other bench and settled in next to Natasha, letting her lean against his arm as Sam tried to put as much pressure as he could on her wound. She appreciated the effort, but it wasn’t doing much to stop the bleeding. She could still feel the blood seeping out through his fingers.

There was a muffled _clank_ and it suddenly became much louder, like someone had opened a window. It made her headache worse. Maria went first, dropping through the hole in the floor and disappearing when she let go. Sam went next, the blood pouring freely from her shoulder again without his hands there to hold it back.

“I’m gonna drop with you, okay?” Steve said. Natasha forced her eyes open and stared at the hole. She nodded. He pulled her down towards the floor, then maneuvered her around so that she was tucked against his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other holding her head firmly against the crook of his neck to protect it from hitting the concrete again. “Ready?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun,” she breathed, and his body shook as he huffed out a laugh.

Then they were falling.

He kept her tight to him as he rolled, his hand cradling the back of her head to keep it still. When they finally stopped moving he sat up, pulling her up with him.

“You okay?” Natasha nodded and tried to push herself upright; however, when she opened her eyes her stomach convulsed and she doubled over, her palms hitting the pavement hard, which sent another agonizing wave of pain shooting through her shoulder. “Nat, we have to move…we have to get off the street-“

“I know,” she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut against the overwhelming dizziness and nausea. “ _Fuck._ Steve…”

His arms suddenly wrapped around her, pulling her up off of the ground. He helped her stand, positioning her tight against him and moving them back into a dark alley. It sounded like he was still talking, but all she could hear over the blood rushing in her ears were muffled sounds, none of them making a lot of sense.

A new, louder sound met her ears, and she finally let her eyes open enough to see what was going on. A van had pulled up in front of them. The side door slid open and she vaguely registered Sam hopping out of it, and he and Steve helping her back in.

Finally she was sitting again, her back against the wall. She let herself drift, giving in to fuzzy feeling overcoming her. It felt nice. She was just _so tired_ , just wanted to go to sleep.

“Natasha?” She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy. “Hey, I need you to stay awake, okay?”

She let her eyes flutter open to see blue ones swimming in front of her. They were familiar. She blinked, trying to focus, but she was _so fucking dizzy_.

“Clint…?” she muttered.

“It’s Steve. Can you hear me?”

“Her pupils are really dilated,” came another voice. She knew who it was but for some reason her brain couldn’t provide her with a name. “How long did it take her to come down from the last one?”

“I dunno, not long. Then she slept it off and she seemed fine.”

“Was she out of it like this?”

“A little. But she also wasn’t going into hypovolemic shock.”

“Where’s Clint?”

“He’s not here, Nat. I’m sorry.” Natasha sighed and closed her eyes again. She _needed_ to talk to Clint. She couldn’t remember why, but for some reason that was all she could think about.

“ _My head hurts_ ,” she mumbled.

“What did she say?”

“Nat, open your eyes.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “ _It hurts._ ”

“I think she’s speaking Russian.”

Was she? Clint knew Russian. At least enough that he could usually understand her. She’d taught him herself.

But wait…Clint wasn’t here. Hadn’t she just seen him?

 _Steve_. Not Clint.

“This isn’t doing anything,” came the other voice next to her. _Sam!_ That’s who it was. He sounded frustrated. “I need a towel or something, at least for the front.”

The air in front of her shifted. She forced her eyes open. The blue eyes were gone, but she could still see Steve in front of her. He reached under his shirt and pulled. There was a ripping sound, and then he had something white in his hands.

“Really, dude?”

“What? This shirt is borrowed.”

Sam took it from Steve and pressed that to the front of her shoulder. She was overwhelmed by the smell of sweat and dirt and gunpowder and aftershave. It took her a few long seconds, but she eventually realized it was Steve’s undershirt. It smelled good. Like him.

“Better.”

Steve knelt in front of her again. Now that she was focusing on him, she could clearly see that it _was_ him, not Clint.

“Can you answer some questions for me?” he asked. Natasha leaned her head back and closed her eyes, but still nodded. “What’s your name?”

“In Russian or…or English?”

“That answers that, I think. Do you remember what happened?”

Natasha frowned, sorting through the mess cluttering her mind. _James_. “ _He shot me_.”

Wait. That wasn’t English, was it? She lifted her head and found Steve again. Based on the lost look on his face, it wasn’t.

Plus, she couldn’t call him James. She couldn’t remember why at the moment, just that she couldn’t.

“B-Barnes. Shot me,” she gasped. “And I…I hit my…my head.”

“Yeah. Do you know what day it is?”

“My fuckin’ day off,” she grumbled. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticked up into a small smile.

“If her brain was swelling she’d be in much worse shape,” Sam said.

“I know.” Steve was still watching her with worried eyes. Finally he adjusted himself to sit next to her, which she took as an invitation to let her head fall to his shoulder. “Just try and stay awake, okay?” he said into her hair.

“So tired,” she mumbled.

“I know. We just need you to try. Just for a little bit.”

Steve moved a bit and then she felt his fingers slide between hers. It briefly crossed her mind that she should panic. Fight or flight. _Abort_. But she didn’t have the energy to resist it. She even let herself think that it felt kinda nice, him holding her hand like he was.

Natasha had no comprehension of how long they were driving, but Steve did eventually let her fall asleep. It didn’t feel like it had been long, but it still cleared her head enough to vaguely know what was going on once they’d stopped and Maria came around to open the door of the van for them.

Steve went first, turning to help her hop down to the ground. His hand immediately went to the small of her back, pulling her against him tight enough to keep her upright. Sam followed, handing her Steve’s now ruined undershirt to hold against her shoulder. The entrance wound on the back of it wasn’t as bad as it had been, Sam had informed them, but the front was still flowing steadily. It took her a second to steady herself, and if it wasn’t for Steve holding her up, she probably would have ended up on the ground.

The building looked like an unused dam or plant. There was a grate door on the side of it, which Maria pulled open and led them through. A long, cement hallway greeted them. Natasha was already starting to feel queasy again, and suddenly the length of it seemed incredibly daunting.

Someone was jogging towards them. She vaguely recognized him, one of the doctors that was usually on the helicarrier.

“GSW, she’s lost about a pint,” Maria called to him.

Their conversation was a blur - the only thing she could really focus on was Steve arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her up - and they hurried her down the hall and into what looked like a makeshift infirmary.

Maria pulled back a curtain, and Nick Fury was laying in a bed in front of her.

“It’s about _damn_ time,” he said. Natasha glanced over at Steve, then back at Fury.

“I’m hallucinating, right?” she mumbled. She heard Nick chuckle.

She had to be. Nick was dead.

_James killed Nick. I saw him die._

She didn’t know a whole hell of a lot right now, but that was one thing she knew to be very, very true.

Maria grabbed her a chair, and Steve helped her across the room before gently lowering her onto one of them. He asked about pain meds, and the doctor disappeared through a plastic curtain. He came back with a syringe and a few fresh towels, motioning for her to take her jacket off.

She reached over with her good arm and pushed it back from her shoulder. It was sticky, completely soaked through with blood, and not sliding off as easily as it should have. She also wasn’t really able to maneuver her arms enough to pull it off without a _lot_ more pain. She winced, realizing she was going to have to ask for help. _Goddammit_.

Steve sat down on the empty chair and reached for the lapel of her jacket, saving her from having to voice her struggles to the room.

“I can undress myself, Rogers,” she said lowly. It was an attempt at a joke, but she was too exhausted, so it fell a little flat. He rolled his eyes but she saw the faintest of smiles playing on his lips. He gently slid her jacket down both arms, taking extra care with her injured shoulder.

He reached for the towels that the doctor had brought in, but he shooed Steve away and replaced him in the chair. She barely felt the needle poke into her arm, but the second whatever was in it started flooding through her system, the pain practically melted away. She hardly even felt it when he positioned the towels on both sides of her shoulder and pressed hard, putting pressure against the wound again.

“You alright?” Steve asked from next to her. He was still hovering. She blinked a few times and raised her eyes to look at him - finally able to do so without getting dizzy - and nodded.

If Clint had hovered like this, constantly worrying about her and asking her if she was okay as many times as Steve had, she’d punch him in the face. But with Steve, it was okay. His presence was comforting in a different way than Clint’s always had been. The way he smiled when he could actually _see_ that she was okay, the way he gently reached over to touch the back of her shoulder, his fingers ghosting over her skin. The way he was apparently more concerned about her than the fact that Nick Fury was _alive_ and lying in a hospital bed a few feet away from them.

Her mind was still a little bit fuzzy, but with the pain meds and the constant pressure on her shoulder finally starting to stop the bleeding, everything started to clear up a little. She listened silently to Nick and Maria explaining what in the hell was actually going on, Nick listing off everything that was wrong with him.

“They cut you open,” Natasha interjected, still staring at him skeptically. She was still convinced she was hallucinating, that once her concussion started clearing up he would be gone. “Your heart stopped.”

“Tetrodotoxin B,” Nick explained. “Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn’t work so great for him, but we found a use for it.”

“But why all the secrecy?” Steve chimed in next to her. She glanced up at him. He was irritated, a deepening crease between his brow and his muscles tense. She knew why. _More lies._ “Why not just tell us?”

“Any attempt on the director’s life had to look successful,” Maria answered apologetically.

“Can’t kill ya if you’re already dead,” Nick added. “Besides…I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Natasha pursed her lips and looked away, trying to blink away the sudden stinging in her eyes and the betrayal stirring deep in her gut. After all he’d done for her, as many years as she’d known him…and he still couldn’t trust her. He still let her think he was dead while her _entire life_ quite literally crashed and burned around her without so much as a warning. He went to Steve first, America’s golden boy, before one of his most highly regarded agents and friends.

It wasn’t Steve’s fault. She knew that. And after everything they’d been through together the last two days she knew he wasn’t thrilled about Fury’s sudden explicit trust in him. It made sense, though. Steve Rogers was the one person in the entire world that Nick could be certain wasn’t Hydra. Everyone else was fair game. And besides, Natasha _had_ switched sides before. She supposed that alone made her forever unreliable.

Her heart sank and she lowered her gaze to the floor, letting them continue the conversation without contributing.

Eventually she let the doctor take her into the next room to clean and stitch her up. Apparently she’d been lucky; the amount of blood she’d lost should have sent her into hypovolemic shock. Now that the bleeding had stopped, the dizziness and nausea were starting to subside. The concussion was still making her a bit sluggish, but with how highly effective SHIELD’s pain medications were, she didn’t feel a thing, not even the dull ache in the back of her head from a few days ago.

The doctor - Hand, she’d remembered finally - was also familiar with her medical history, having treated her a few times. He knew regular morphine wouldn’t do a damn thing for her with the Red Room’s serum flowing through her veins, so he knew exactly what and how much to give her so that it actually worked. For that she was incredibly grateful.

Maria and Sam had left to move Nick upstairs - they’d turned an old dining room into a makeshift conference room - but Steve held back. He kept his distance, busying himself with cleaning the blood out of her jacket while Dr. Hand worked. Once she was wrapped in an excessive amount of bandages and given some pain pills for later, he reached out to help her off the table.

“If you keep carrying me around everywhere, you’re gonna break a hip,” she said, smirking when she saw him roll his eyes. He lifted the jacket up, adjusting when needed while she slid her arms into it. Once she did he pulled it up onto her shoulders, taking care not to jostle her injured shoulder. “You’re not gonna break me, Rogers. I’m fine.”

“I know,” he replied, but let a hand rest on the small of her back while they left the room and he guided her up the dauntingly high flight of steps. He dropped it to his side when they met up with the others, but he still pulled a chair out for her before she could sit down.

“This man _declined_ a Nobel Peace Prize” Nick said lowly. He was staring at a photo. “He said peace wasn’t an achievement. It was a _responsibility_.” He dropped it unceremoniously, and Natasha caught a glimpse of it. Alexander Pierce. He leaned forward and glanced at Natasha. “See, it’s stuff like _this_ that gives me trust issues-“

“We have to stop the launch,” Natasha interjected, averting her gaze. Instead she glanced up to Steve. He met her eyes and gave her a small nod.

“I don’t think the council is accepting my calls anymore,” Nick chided. He reached for a small case that had been sitting on the table, turning it and pulling the top open.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, taking a step forward to get a better look.

“Once the helicarriers reach three thousand feet,” Maria started, turning her laptop towards them, which displayed a diagram of what she was describing, “they’ll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized.”

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own,” Fury added.

“One or two won’t cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work. Because is any of those ships remains operational…” Maria’s voice wavered, just a little. Just enough for Natasha to notice. “A whole lot of people are going to die.”

If Natasha had to guess, Maria didn’t actually know if this was going to work.

“We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is Hydra. We need to get past them, insert these server blades, and maybe, just _maybe_ we can salvage what’s-“

“We’re not _salvaging_ anything,” Steve said suddenly, cutting Nick off mid-sentence, catching him off guard. “We’re not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we’re taking down SHIELD.”

“SHIELD had nothing to do with this-!“

“You _gave_ _me_ this mission. _This_ is how it ends.”

Natasha averted her gaze, staring at the little chips in the case Maria had shown them. She’d been a part of SHIELD since the day she left the KGB. Even when she was away working with the Avengers, she always had her job waiting for her.

What would be left after all of this imploded?

“SHIELD’s been compromised, you said so yourself,” Steve continued. “Hydra grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.”

“Why do you think we’re meeting in this cave?” Fury cut in. “I _noticed_.”

“And how many paid the price before you did?”

Fury balked, as if he was unsure how to respond. Steve was staring at him intently. Nick glanced over at Maria before responding.

“Look, I didn’t know about Barnes.”

“Even if you had, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too?”

Natasha closed her eyes, letting out a long breath against the pang of guilt that shot through her. It was one thing for Fury to keep it from him. And sure, maybe if this had happened a year and a half ago, before the two of them had started working together so well as partners and he turned into something more of a friend, it would be different. But if she told him now…if he found out she’d known for two years that his best friend was alive, and what he’d turned into…the things she’d helped him do, all those years ago…

Nick didn’t have a response to Steve’s accusations, so he continued.

“SHIELD…Hydra…it all goes.”

“He’s right,” Maria agreed. Nick turned to Natasha, as if he assumed to back him up. She just stared back cooly, leaning back in her chair, not even offering a response. The thought of taking down SHIELD absolutely terrified her, but after what Fury had pulled, she couldn’t help place just a little bit more trust in what Steve was saying than Nick.

And Steve _was_ right. They had to destroy Hydra at the source, and you couldn’t take one without the other.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam said behind her, when Nick finally settled on him. “I do what he does, just slower.”

“Well.’ Nick leaned back in his chair, thinking if over. “Looks like you’re giving the orders now, Captain.” There was the smallest hint of bitterness in his voice, but Nick was smart. He knew Steve was right.

“What now?” Sam asked. Natasha glanced back up at Steve, gears turning as he came up with a plan.

“We head out tomorrow morning. Early,” he said finally. “Sitwell said the helicarriers are launching at ten.” He looked to Maria for confirmation and she nodded. “Sam and I will take care of the chips.”

“We can’t assume everyone at SHIELD is Hydra,” Natasha said. “We don’t know how far the corruption goes. It could be everyone, it could just be higher-ups and the STRIKE team.”

“You’re right,” Steve agreed. “Once Hydra knows we’re there, all hell is going to break loose. We need to give them a chance to run or fight on our side before they kill more innocent people.”

“So you’re going to waltz in there and tell everyone?” Nick sounded skeptical and Steve shot him an irritated glare. Natasha understood his hesitation. Nick Fury was a spy, not a soldier. He did things quietly and undetected. Steve was the exact opposite.

“What other choice to we have?” Steve replied. “They all think we’re criminals. They’re not going to believe we’re not until they have proof. Just like you didn’t.”

Fury gave him a hard stare, but stepped down.

“Not just SHIELD,” Natasha blurted out softly. Steve turned to her, but she avoided his gaze as the idea formed in her head. They were about to infiltrate and take down the world’s largest security organization, and reveal it had been taken over by terrorists several decades ago. That was a big deal. People were going to notice, and they were going to have questions.

“You don’t think anyone is going to believe us?” Sam asked. Natasha took a long, hesitant breath. She could feel Nicks eyes on her, and she knew he could read her mind. Hydra had secrets, ones they’d been keeping for decades. Secrets that were well entangled with SHIELD’s. They were one in the same. If they were going to stop them…

“The world needs to know what’s been going on. They need to see what Hydra’s been doing. If they don’t…“

“Hydra can keep growing,” Steve finished for her slowly. She braved a glance up at him, and when their eyes met, she saw the realization form in them. “Are you sure about this?”

“About what?” Sam was glancing between the two of them, and Natasha suddenly realized just how little he actually knew her. Publicly she was Natasha Romanoff, high-ranking SHIELD agent and Avenger. That’s it. SHIELD had kept almost every bit of information on her locked away to protect her identity. Sam didn’t realize what revealing Hydra’s secrets really meant.

“We need to dump everything,” she continued, ignoring Sam’s question. “Release every file, every project, every secret SHIELD has ever had.” She had no idea where all the confidence was coming from. Defense mechanism, probably. Her mind was screaming at her, telling her this was a terrible idea, telling her not to go through with it. “I need to get up to Pierce’s office. If we can get to him, I’ll be able to use him to bypass the security protocols.”

“And cut Hydra off from the very top,” Fury agreed. Natasha finally glanced over at him. “You’ll need two alpha-level agents to override it.” He smirked. “And honestly, I _really_ want to see his face when he finds out he didn’t kill me.”

“You can’t just take the elevator to his office, Nat,” Steve said. Natasha bit her lip, thinking.

“Anyone happen to know when Councilwoman Hawley’s plane lands?”

“Natasha-“ Nick started, but she cut him off.

“I know you have the face graphs. You expect me to believe Hydra thought Hill was actually on their side?”

“She has a point,” Maria replied with a small upturn of her lips. “And the council _is_ meeting with Pierce tomorrow morning for the launch.”

“She’ll listen to you, Nick,” Natasha insisted.

“And if she’s Hydra?”

“Then we cut off another head.”

She saw the ghost of a smile on Nicks features.

“Fine.”

“What about our gear?” Steve asked. Natasha glanced over at him. His gaze lingered on her for a split second before switching to Maria.

“Outside. In the van.” She smiled at Steve’s dumbfounded look. “Agent 13 was the one in charge of your shield and the wings, to make sure they got to the right place. We have a suit and all your gear too, Natasha.”

With the plan mostly set, Steve and Sam left to break into the Smithsonian. Maria accompanied them to take care of security and get them in and out smoothly. Steve needed a suit and he was determined on using the one he’d been frozen in, the one Howard Stark had made him in 1943. After they’d left, Fury went to grab the face mask for Natasha, leaving her alone. Something told her he was avoiding her.

She grabbed Maria’s laptop to scroll through the files and diagrams she had of the helicarriers. It blew her mind that they’d been building something of this size underneath the building and she hadn’t known. Nick _did_ know, and had been completely convinced it was a peacekeeping project. All of this, right under their noses for years - _decades_ \- and no one had the slightest clue.

She heard movement across the room in the direction of the stairwell. She kept her eyes on the computer, though she couldn’t make her mind focus on it anymore. Nick limped into the room and leaned against the table next to her, groaning uncomfortably.

“Didn’t think you could make it up the stairs,” she said flatly, not bothering to glance over at him.

“It wasn’t pretty.” He sighed when she continued to ignore him, and lifted the case in his hands. “Here.” She took it from him and realized it was the face mask she’d asked about. “Hill calibrated it before she left.”

“Thanks.”

She sat it down next to Maria’s laptop and stood. When she did she accidentally met Nick’s eyes, and suddenly she was rooted to the spot. _Dammit_. She stared at him, long and hard, clenching her jaw against the stinging in her eyes.

“I thought you were _dead_ , Nick” she said finally. Her voice shook against the burning in the back of her throat. “I _watched_ you die.”

“I had to keep the circle small,” he replied. He lowered his eyes to the floor, avoiding her gaze.

“After everything-“ her voice cracked and she stopped abruptly. She couldn’t go down that road, not now. Not this exhausted, this exposed, with pain meds flooding her system making her brain fuzzy. “We didn’t know what was coming. You did.”

“I knew you could fend for yourself,” he answered, meeting her gaze again.

“I can,” she replied defensively. “We both can. And we did. But that’s not the point.”

“You would have done the same thing.”

Natasha let herself think about that for a second. If she’d been in Nick’s shoes, who would she have trusted? Hadn’t she questioned everyone she knew? Nick, before he died. Maria. Tony Stark. Phil Coulson. Even Sharon Carter, the niece of the woman who founded SHIELD in the first place. And Clint. Her _best friend_ , the man who was more than a brother, the only family she’d ever known. But even him she’d second guessed.

The only person she’d never stopped trusting was Steve.

Sure, he’d pissed her off. He’d tried to lie to her to do what he thought he had to do. And she was still a little bitter that Nick had trusted him before her. But, if she was in Nick’s position, she knew with unshakeable certainty that she’d have gone straight to Steve Rogers.

“I know,” she agreed finally. It was in her nature not to trust anyone but herself. With everything that had happened, that was happening, she was realizing how exhausting it was. And lonely. “That’s the problem.”

Without another word she turned on her heel and left, heading down a hallway that held the bunks they’d be staying in for the night. Maria had explained that this used to be an old SHIELD bunker in the 50s and 60s. It became deserted before they had the ability to keep digital records, so it had gone forgotten until two days ago.

Down this hallway was a common room, an emptied out gym, and an outdated kitchen. Another hall branched out from there, lined with rooms full of bunks. Sam and Steve were in one, Maria had settled in one a couple days ago, and Natasha chose another. They were relatively small rooms, long, a line of six metal beds with stiff mattresses along one wall with two lockers each in between them. They weren’t meant to be comfortable, just functional.

They weren’t warm, either. The blankets were old and didn’t provide much warmth, something Natasha discovered after stripping down to her tank top and underwear and burrowing underneath two of them. She’d slept in worse, of course. Much, much worse. Uninsulated safe houses. The ground. Prison cells on straight concrete. Huddled behind a dumpster in an alley when she was five. Large, unheated rooms in the dead of a Russian winter with her wrist shackled to the bed.

She laid on her back staring up at the rafters on the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but sleep didn’t come. She hadn’t actually had a full night’s sleep since Thursday night, yet here she was three days, two concussions, a bullet wound, and a ridiculous amount of painkillers later, wide awake.

She heard movement a while later outside in the hall. Voices, belonging to Steve and Sam. A door opening and closing, then silence again. The deafening kind that gave her too much of an opportunity to get lost inside her own head.

She still hadn’t heard from Clint and, even though she’d told him to stay quiet, it still bothered her. She’d used Maria’s secure laptop to send him another encrypted message; if he’d seen the news, she was positive he saw the fight on the highway, saw her and Steve go up against James. _I’m okay. SHIELD compromised. Lay low and don’t trust anyone. Wait for me to contact._ She knew he had to stay with Laura and the kids, to keep himself out of this until it was over. She _knew_ he did. But it also felt wrong not having him here, wrong having that doubt eating away at her in the back of her mind.

And then she thought about Nick, who’d essentially done what she was doing to Clint. He’d kept her out of it, made sure she wasn’t directly involved. Hidden from everyone but Maria and Dr. Hand to keep them safe, reducing the risk of Pierce finding out James hadn’t succeeded in killing him. It made sense. He was right about her doing the same thing. Clint had a family, he didn’t need to be wrapped up in all this. To risk his life, to risk Laura’s and Lila’s and Coopers.

And hell, hadn’t Coulson done this to them too? Even to Clint, who not only had to deal with the trauma of what Loki did to him, but had to come out of it and find out his actions had resulted in getting the man killed? Coulson, who saved Clint’s life, who was more than just a CO to him. But Phil had let him think for months that he was dead, let him believe it until he walked into Fury’s office one day unannounced while the two of them were debriefing with Nick.

They hadn’t heard from Coulson or his team, either. He’d be the first one in line to help her and Steve take down SHIELD if he knew what was going on. Was he truly still in the dark? In danger? Or was he one of them?

God, she just wanted to _sleep_.

She tried for a while longer, alternating between staring at the ceiling and the back of her eyelids. She drifted a few times, but every time she did it wasn’t for long. She saw flashes of another life, steel-grey eyes that were trying to love her, not kill her.

_If they find out, they’ll kill us._

_Then we won’t let them find out._

Teaching her to fight like a soldier while she taught him to fight like a dancer.

_You’re better than this, Natalia. Come on._

His scream when they’d shackled him to the chair, burning her existence away from his mind. Removing everything but the killing machine.

A knock brought her out of her light slumber and she flew upright. James’ scream still rang in her ears, and it took her a second to remember where she was and who was peeking at her through the cracked door. It was Steve, guilt flashing across his face.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry,” he said. She shook her head, trying to even out her breathing.

“It’s fine. You didn’t.” He pushed the door open a bit more, but still looked unconvinced. “I can’t really sleep.”

“Me either,” he admitted. Natasha adjusted herself, sitting up straighter and pulling her legs underneath her as a silent invitation for him to come in. He did, but not without hesitating, despite permission. He sat on the bed opposite her, folding his hands awkwardly in his lap.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, as if he hadn’t already asked her a million times in the last two days. She just shrugged with her good shoulder.

“I’ve had worse.” Steve’s face fell. She saw his eyes flick down to her stomach, where she’d showed him her scar the other day, before they landed on the floor. “Steve-“

“I’m sorry,” he cut in, before she could stop him.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I’d have come sooner…or if…if I knew he was still _alive_ -“

“Steve, it’s not-”

“We didn’t even look for the body. We didn’t know where to start, and…we had to go after Schmidt, so we didn’t even have time, so I just… _left him there_ -“

“ _Steve._ ”

When he finally looked up, his eyes were wet. He’d never really spoken about James with her before and she had a feeling he hadn’t with anyone else, either. According to the articles and history books and Steve’s file, James had died just a few days before Steve crashed into the ocean. She knew first hand how useless SHIELD’s psychologists were and he’d probably never actually dealt with it.

And now James was suddenly back, a ghost sent to haunt him, and everything he hadn’t truly gotten over was bubbling right back up to the surface. She’d seen him wake from nightmares, and gotten him through a couple panic attacks here and there since they’d started working together, but Steve wasn’t emotional like this. She’d witnessed him shove everything down and get back to work too many times to count.

She wondered if any of this would have happened if she’d just _told him_.

“ _None_ of this is your fault.” He just sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands.“It’s not. It’s…Zola, for subjecting him to those experiments. Hydra for torturing him for so many years. It’s…” _It’s my fault._ “It’s anyone’s fault but yours.”

Steve was quiet for a few long seconds. It was tense but not uncomfortable. She could hear every ragged breath he took, every beat of her own heart, every creak in the old structure.

“He’s going to be there tomorrow.”

He lifted his head again, meeting her gaze. “I know.” He gave her a long, hard look before continuing. “I know what you’re gonna say. Sam said it too. But I…I can’t kill him.”

“I know,” Natasha answered softly. “Just…tell me you won’t get yourself killed to keep him alive.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“ _Steve_.” Her voice cracked. She didn’t care. Her heart swelled, filled with emotions she was usually much better at holding back, and she panicked. There were so many things, _too many_ , that she felt like she needed to say, but none of them would formulate into words. All she knew was the thought of him letting James kill him was too overwhelming, too much for her to think about. “I can’t…” _I can’t lose you_. That floated above everything else. _I can’t watch you die._

“Can I tell you something?” he said, saving her from blurting out things she hadn’t had time to consider yet. She nodded and he huffed out a humorless laugh. “I could have gotten a suit from Stark. Or stolen one from SHIELD in the morning. But some part of me is hoping…”

“That he’ll recognize you?” she finished for him. He sighed and nodded. “He might.”

“I know it’s stupid. You don’t have to-“

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” It wasn’t, not really. It had taken _her_ a while to truly feel like she had control of her own mind again, after leaving the Red Room, but it wasn’t impossible.

He was watching her, eyes wide and vulnerable like they had been that morning in Sam’s guest room. When he’d been there for her, bringing her down from the edge of a breakdown. It felt much more intimate than she was used to, having someone she felt comfortable seeing that side of and vice versa. The only other person who had before was Clint.

Except Clint was different, somehow. Clint was this constant, undeniable presence in her life. He was her rock, her safe place, the one thing in her life she’d ever been able to count on with unbreakable certainty. But Clint…he knew _everything_. He’d been in dark places much like she had, been forced into a life filled with shit that he barely made it out of. They both had a mutual understanding of each other’s traumas.

Steve had a different kind of trauma haunting him, but no matter what he’d been through, he was always so _good._ Everything he’d done, everything he’d lost, every decision he’d made had been, at the root of it all, for the greater good. He didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. He didn’t kill unless it was necessary, and would sacrifice himself a hundred times over if it meant the safety of someone else, whether they were a civilian or someone he cared about.

Yet somehow, regardless of how little he knew about her dark past, he _still_ saw the good in her. He still trusted her. He still saw her as his equal, as a partner, as his friend.

It would be so easy, she thought. So easy to run with whatever it was that he made her feel. So easy to stop thinking so goddamn much and just let it happen. So easy to cross the small space between him, climb on top of him and kiss him breathless until-

But she couldn’t. If he was anyone else, sure. She’d be able to live with that. But not him. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. Regardless of what she felt, she’d be using him.

A friend. That’s what he said he wanted. And letting herself want more than that was dangerous.

“I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you,” he said after much too long a silence.

“Don’t be,” she replied with a soft smile, and he gave her one in return. He stood up to leave, but before she had time to stop herself, she reached out and wrapped her hands loosely around his wrist. “Wait-“ She quickly dropped her hand, but still looked up to meet his eyes, the words leaving her mouth before she could reconsider them. “Stay. Please?”

“Why?” It wasn’t disparaging by any means, but it opened a door she couldn’t bring herself to confront yet.

“I just…” She let out a long breath, eyes still glued to his, trying to find the words, trying to gather the confidence to admit them out loud. “I…don’t really want to be alone…right now.” The sad smile he gave her in return told her he didn’t either. Why else would he have come to her, when Sam was right there? “Plus, it’s freezing in here and you’re like a furnace.”

“Glad I can be of service,” he replied drily, but the corner of his mouth still ticked upwards for a split second. Then he frowned a bit, crease forming between his brows. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded, then turned to sit on the opposite bed again. He pulled off his boots, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed. Then his socks, which he twisted together in a ball and shoved inside of one of the boots. Then he stood and unbuttoned his khakis, pulling them down and folding them neatly on the bed. When he turned back to her, standing there in just his boxers and t-shirt, he frowned when he saw the amused look she was giving him.

“What?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she answered. He glanced back at his neatly arranged clothes and turned back with a sheepish grin.

“Habit, I guess.” He climbed into bed next to her, pushing himself against the wall because he knew she liked the outside.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had to share a bed - most of the hotel rooms and safe houses they’d stayed in on missions weren’t that accommodating - but something about this time felt so much more intimate. The bed was tiny, so when she laid back down next to him she didn’t really have an option besides pressing her back up against his chest and letting his arm fall over her side, curling around her waist in a way that didn’t bother the bandages wrapped around her shoulder. His other one bent underneath the pillow and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

She’d sometimes wake up to him curled around her like this, when the situation had required them to share a bed in the past, but he was a light enough sleeper that he usually caught himself and rolled as far away from her as possible in order to respect her space. She’d never admit that she didn’t mind, or that she knew he did it. She’d also never admit how amusing it was to be probably one of the only people who knew Steve Rogers was a cuddler.

“Steve?” she breathed after several silent minutes. She’d felt his breaths become slower but she could tell he wasn’t asleep yet. He hummed in response. “I don’t know exactly how much SHIELD has on file about me…” she hesitated, squeezing her eyes shut. “But none of it is good.”

“It was a long time ago, Nat,” he muttered softly.

“I know. But I still did it. And…I know, in the grand scheme of things…it’s a minor sacrifice. Stopping Hydra is more important. I just…”

Her voice cracked and she trailed off again. She couldn’t find the words to tell him what she’d been absolutely _terrified_ of, ever since the second she realized what she’d need to do. Clint knew it all already. Fury and Coulson knew enough, so did Maria. She didn’t really care what Stark thought about her and she didn’t know Banner or Thor well enough to care about their opinions either.

But Steve…

“It’s not going to change what I think about you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Steve slid his arm up and found her hand, slotting his fingers between hers. “It doesn’t matter what you did. It matters who you are now.”

“I wish I believed that,” she admitted, so softly it was barely even a whisper. Steve let out a long breath, the air tickling the back of her neck.

“I wish you did too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raise your hand if you caught the how i met your mother reference ;)
> 
> [tumblr](https://capsiclewidow.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/capsiclewidow)


	7. Chapter 7

For the first time in days, Natasha slept.

She slept _well_ , and dreamlessly, something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. She woke up warm, Steve’s heavy arm draped around her and his legs tangled with hers. He had his face buried in her hair, and she could feel his soft, steady breaths on the back of her neck.

She knew they had to get up, and it had to be soon. If she was being honest with herself (which she was because, and _only_ because, she was still groggy...or at least that’s what she told herself to justify it), she would be perfectly content lying here all day instead. She was dangerously comfortable with Steve wrapped around her like he was, and-

_Shit_. She needed to get up.

Before she could talk herself into falling back to sleep, she twisted herself away from him and sat up. The harsh cold hitting her skin was almost enough for her to climb back under the covers and wrap herself in his warmth again; but she didn’t, and instead stood up, reaching for the pile of clothes she’d left laying on the opposite bed. She sat on the edge of it and pulled her jeans on before turning her attention to Steve, still fast asleep.

“Hey.” He stirred but didn’t wake up. “Steve.” He made a small, sleepy noise - she would _not_ allow herself to be suddenly overcome with how adorable it was, god _dammit_ \- but still didn’t open his eyes. “Rogers, wake _up_.”

She grabbed the pillow lying next to her and tossed it at his face. He gasped and shot upright, blinking around the room, sleepy and confused. When his eyes fell on hers and he realized there was no immediate threat, he groaned and fell back down onto the bed.

“Christ, Nat,” he breathed through a yawn. She just smirked at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Get up, soldier. We have to go punch some Nazis.”

“For the record, I regret letting you find those old comics,” he muttered, rolling over and sitting up again. He rubbed his face with his hands then slid his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in every direction, before lifting his bleary eyes up to meet hers. She opened her mouth to reply, but got distracted by the sight of him.

“ _For the record_ ,” she replied finally, resisting the urge to reach over and smooth his hair back down, and finding her words again, “I would have found them anyway.”

He rolled his eyes again but the corner of his mouth ticked up into a sleepy smile. He nodded towards her. “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.” Her heart suddenly started thumping wildly in her chest and the eye contact became too much, so she averted her gaze and reached for her boots on the floor. That was enough to get him moving as well and he stood, reaching for his khakis. He bent down to pull them on and she busied herself with on her socks and boots to keep from getting distracted by the way the muscles rippled underneath his t-shirt when he moved.

_God, what is wrong with me?_

She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t meet them. She stood abruptly and turned away to avoid the smile he was giving her, but the dull ache in her chest caused her to stop. She closed her eyes and sighed before finally turning to face him. He was still sitting on the bed, watching her, frowning when he saw the look on her face. Her mind was racing, wanting her to say a million different things that she shouldn’t be saying.

“Don’t die, Rogers,” she decided on finally. He stood, taking a half step towards her.

“I’ll try my best,” he replied, giving her one of those lopsided little grins that she absolutely… _hated_.

“Don’t just try.” Her heart pounded hard in her chest. “Please. Promise me.”

His smile faded again. “Natasha…”

“I know what he means to you, I do…but you can’t let him kill you just to keep him alive.”

His jaw tightened and he averted her gaze. “I…can’t-“

“Steve…“ Her voice cracked. Before she could tell herself not to, she reached out and rested her hand on his arm, her fingers digging into his skin just a little too hard. His eyes flitted up to meet hers again. “Please.”

Steve let out a long breath, a little crease forming between his brows as he searched her eyes. For a few agonizingly long seconds, it was completely silent with the exception of Natasha’s heart thumping loudly.

“Okay,” he said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiled softly, his gaze never leaving hers except to drop down to her lips for half a second. Natasha swallowed thickly, suddenly overwhelmed by their proximity. “Nat-“

He was cut off by Natasha’s new phone - courtesy of Maria - dinging in her back pocket. _Thank god._ She finally tore her eyes away from Steve’s and pulled it out.

It was a text from Fury. _Let’s go._

“Duty calls,” she said, throat suddenly dry. She turned away from him and reached down to grab her jacket off of the bed before turning towards the door again, desperate to get away from him, but at the same time cursing Nick for his timing.

“Romanoff-“ She glanced back at him over her shoulder. He smirked. “Don’t die.”

She just grinned and rolled her eyes before leaving the room.

With Project: Insight launching in a few hours time, SHIELD had called off their search for the two of them, and getting to Ronald Regan Airport was much easier than it would have been the day before. Nick substituted his eyepatch with a pair of aviators, and Natasha bought a ball cap and a hooded sweatshirt at a gift shop to cover her hair. They made their way through the busy terminal and found a spot near the gate that was frequented by private jets, right by the bathroom. It was a gamble, but one that was likely to pay off considering she was on a one-way flight from London and her security detail happened to consist of only men. Nick stationed himself just outside of it while Natasha waited inside.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes, Nick texted her a warning and a few seconds later Pamela Hawley entered the otherwise empty restroom.

“Councilwoman,” Natasha started carefully from where she’d been waiting in the corner. Hawley turned on her heels, reaching for the pistol she was obviously hiding at the small of her back. Natasha raised her arms, then pulled back the hood of her sweatshirt and removed her hat.

“Agent Romanoff?” Hawley glanced back towards the door of the restroom uneasily.

“I know what Pierce has probably told you about me and Rogers, but please hear me out.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest impatiently, but Natasha knew she was a reasonable woman. She would listen.

“I don’t have time to give you as many details as I’m sure you would like, but Director Fury can fill you in-“

“Director Fury is dead,” Hawley cut in.

“He’s here.” Hawley’s eyes widened a bit. “He’s right outside.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“SHIELD has been compromised. Nick found out and Secretary Pierce tried to have him killed.”

“Agent Romanoff, I-“

“We have a plan to stop him, part of which is already in motion. But we need your help.”

“Alexander Pierce may be rash and full of himself, but he’s a good man.”

“I know,” Natasha replied evenly. It didn’t _seem_ like she was Hydra, but she still needed to tread carefully. “I thought so too until I realized what he was hiding. Project: Insight was his idea, was it not?”

“Yes, but it was backed by the entire council. I hardly see why-“

“It’s not a defense system, Councilwoman.”

Hawley thought about that. Natasha watched her anxiously. This was the moment of truth.

“Are you saying-“

“Yes.” Hawley met Natasha’s gaze, eyes widening slightly. “They’re going to use it to eliminate anyone who’s a threat to Hydra.”

“ _Hydra?_ ” She replied skeptically. She opened her mouth to argue, but suddenly the door to the restroom opened again and she glanced back to see Nick entering, pulling his sunglasses off.

“She’s telling the truth, Pamela.”

Hawley gaped at him. After a few long seconds she dropped her arms.

“This is all…”

“Completely absurd? I happen to agree.” Nick took a few steps towards her. “I know you and I don’t usually see eye to eye, Councilwoman. But to stop them, we need your help.”

The councilwoman sighed and glanced back to Natasha. “What can I do?”

_Bingo._

“I need to get into the council meeting this morning,” Natasha explained. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the face graph and blonde wig Maria had procured for her the day before, then handed Hawley the bag. “And your security detail can’t find out.”

“Romanoff will infiltrate the meeting and do what she needs to do, and I’ll take you to a secure location until this is all over,” Nick added.

Hawley was overwhelmed but thankfully agreed to their plan. She dressed in the new outfit they’d supplied for her and Natasha changed into Hawley’s bright blue suit. Once they’d both changed she calibrated the face graph to reflect her face and voice, and pulled her hair up to secure the wig on top of it.

Finally, once she was a perfect replica of the councilwoman, she left her and Fury in the restroom to meet the security waiting outside. They didn’t notice and escorted her outside to the car waiting to take her to Triskelion.

“Councilwoman.”

Natasha responded with a curt smile as Pierce extended his hand to help her out of the car. She took it, resisting the urge to break it, and followed him into the building. Luckily, Alexander Pierce wasn’t one to waste words on things like small talk. Hawley wasn’t either, so the walk was silent.

They met up with the remainder of the council just inside the doors where Pierce led them across the main lobby. There was a private elevator from the assigned parking garage that went straight the floor with his office. It stopped at Fury’s too, and all the other higher-ups office levels. Why were they going this way?

_He’s making a scene_ , she realized. He wanted SHIELD to know the entire council was there, that they approved of everything going on. That this was a big deal. Most likely that meant he was the only member of the council who was Hydra.

If that was true, this would be much easier than Natasha expected.

“And how was your flight?” Pierce, who had been chatting with the men, had directed this one at Natasha.

“Lovely,” she replied drily, without skipping a beat. And then, just to expand on her answer and not keep it too short - and a bit for her own amusement - she added, “The ride from the airport less so.”

“Sadly, SHIELD can’t control everything.” Natasha couldn’t hold back a smirk.

“Including Captain America,” Rockwell retorted. Natasha glanced in his direction, but watched Pierce’s reaction instead. He opened his mouth as if he was going to react, but quickly closed it again.

_Rockwell isn’t Hydra_.

“This facility is biometrically controlled,” Pierce explained, busying himself with the SHIELD security guard approaching them instead of responding to Rockwell’s comment. The guard had a metal case and offered it to Pierce. He held it out, revealing four small pins. “These will give you unrestricted access.”

Well, _part_ of that was true. The building did rely on biometrics to keep track of the SHIELD agents inside of it, but that database went well beyond Triskelion employees. Why would the council not already have access to the building? They had to be trackers of some sort. If that was accurate, she was correct in assuming the rest of the council had no idea who Pierce really was. She eyed the pin warily but still attached it carefully to the lapel of her suit jacket.

“Shall we?” Pierce said finally, after all of the pins were in place. The group followed him, silent in their ride up to Pierce’s office.

“I am so glad you could all be here today,” he began as he led the way into his office. Natasha had never been in it. They were on a corner of the building, the north and east walls nothing but windows that looked over a hazy DC. It was mostly empty; four chairs stood in the middle of the room, all in a line facing away from the windows. There was a desk off to the left and a table in the middle that held a bottle of champagne and four glass flutes.

Pierce paused to take in the view of the city - god, the _dramatics_ \- before turning to the table and carefully pouring five glasses of champaign. Natasha took her place in the room, clutching the glass he’d handed to her and eyeing the wall dividing the room from the hall. It was also made of glass, but doubled as a holographic screen displaying launch information for the helicarriers. Right in the center was a countdown to the launch: two hours, nine minutes, and seven seconds.

“I know the road hasn’t exactly been smooth,” Pierce continued, circling the group to stand in front of them all. “Some of you would have _gladly_ kicked me out of the car along the way.” His gaze lingered on Rockwell just a split second too long before he turned around to face the holographic display. “But finally, we’re here. And the world should be grateful.”

He lifted his glass in a toast, but before the glass made it to his lips, a voice rang out over the intercom.

“ _Attention all SHIELD agents. This is Steve Rogers_.”

Natasha fought to suppress a grin and watched as Pierce froze.

“ _You’ve heard a lot about me over the last few days_ ,” Steve continued. “ _Some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it’s time you know the truth_.”

“Secretary…?” Rockwell said lowly, glaring at Pierce questioningly. Councilman Yen glanced over and caught Natasha’s eye. Pierce was silent, but Natasha could see the panic bubbling up in his eyes.

Steve had taken a long pause. _Come on, Rogers. You can do this._

“ _SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It’s been taken over by Hydra_.” Pierce began pacing, rounding the four of them to the other side of the table. Putting distance between them. “ _Alexander Pierce is their leader_.” All three of the men turned to Pierce, who just shrugged. “ _The STRIKE and Insight crew are Hydra as well. I don’t know how many more. But I know they’re in the building. They could be standing right next to you_.”

Pierce pulled out his phone, avoiding the stares of the rest of the council. He began tapping on the screen, and Natasha adjusted her left hand, just enough to be able to slide one of her electric discs from her watch into her palm if needed without him noticing.

“ _They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Nick Fury_.” Pierce smirked and Natasha had to again resist the urge to knock him out cold right then and there. “ _And it won’t end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, Hydra will be able to kill anyone who stands in their way. Unless we stop them._

_“I know I’m asking a lot. But the price of freedom is high_.” He lowered his voice and added, “ _it always has been_.” Natasha’s jaw clenched against the sudden ache in her chest, the memory of him sitting there across from her not twelve hours ago letting himself almost lose it in front of her, the empty look in his eyes when Bucky’s mask fell off. “ _And it’s a price I’m willing to pay_.”

Steve paused again. Natasha heard boots stomping down the hallway outside, a group of STRIKE soldiers appearing seconds later.

“ _And if I’m the only one, then so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not_.”

“You smug son of a bitch,” Rockwell snarled almost a split second after the intercom went silent. The STRIKE team thundered into the room, let by Rollins. Natasha took a step back, keeping her shocked cover, as Councilman Singh frowned over at them.

“Arrest him,” he said, bewildered at their lack of action. Rollins stepped forward, pulling a gun from his holster and pointing it straight at Singh’s head.

“I guess I’ve got the floor,” Pierce said, sliding his hands casually into his pockets.

The screens behind him suddenly changed. The countdown disappeared, replaced by the word OVERRIDE in large red letters, beeping wildly.

_Shit_.

The three council members and Natasha turned towards the windows, Pierce crossing the room to stand in front of the window for a better view of the Potomac below. The river suddenly parted, three large doors appearing from underneath it, revealing the three helicarriers beneath them that began lifting from the river.

She couldn’t hear the engines from where they were inside, but the pops of explosions were clear. They couldn’t risk her having a comm link in her ear, and she hated not knowing what was going on. As one of the helicarriers lifted into her sight she saw Sam rocketing away from its surface _._ He was dodging fire from the massive guns on the deck, weaving back and forth as they trailed him. Pierce turned suddenly and approached them again.

“Let me ask you a question,” he asked, regarding Singh. He sat his phone down on the table and grabbed one of the champagne flutes. “What if Pakistan marched into Mumbai tomorrow, and you _knew_ that they were gonna drag your daughters into a soccer stadium for execution?” He handed Singh the glass. “And you could just…stop it. With the flick of a switch.” Singh just scowled at him. “Would you? Wouldn’t you all?”

“Not if it was your switch,” Singh retorted, tossing the glass across the room. It shattered, champagne and glass exploding against the tile. Pierce just chuckled.

Rollins moved again, spinning his pistol in his hand and then handing it to Pierce. He raised it, but before his finger slid all the way to the trigger, Natasha snapped.

She first kicked Singh out of the way and he stumbled sideways, giving her enough room to reach out and grab hold of Pierce’s wrist and punch him hard in the eye. She then turned, tossing an electric disc at one of the security guards behind her.

Pierce tried, in that split second, to push her away with the hand still holding the pistol. She took advantage of it, grabbing the gun with her free hand and launching it straight into Rollins’ face. He fell backwards with a grunt and she spun, smacking her palm into the nose of a third guard before kneeing him in the ribs and throwing him hard onto the floor. Rollins, recovering his smack to the face, stumbled to his feet, but before he knew what had hit him Natasha reached over, grabbed his neck and slammed the side of head onto the table. He was out cold before he hit the ground.

A fourth guy came at her and she turned her back to him, wrapping her hand around the arm that held the gun he’d pointed at her. She twisted her body and elbowed him in the back. He cried out in pain, giving Natasha the opportunity to grab him by the top of his bulletproof vest, launch him over her shoulder, and throw him against the floor, where his head hit the tile with a _crack_.

In her peripheral vision Natasha saw Pierce. She grabbed the pistol out of the agent’s hand and hopped to her feet, aiming it directly at his chest. He cowered away from her, frozen in his tracks as he stared down the barrel of the gun pointing at him.

Using his confusion as a window, Natasha lifted her free hand up to her temple and tapped the small, invisible button that controlled the mask on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said drily, her voice distorted by the mask turning off, deeply satisfied by the realization flooding Pierce’s eyes. She peeled off the mask and tossed it to the ground, doing the same with her wig. He just stared at her, and she smirked. “Did I step on your moment?”

Pierce practically shrank away from her as her face faded into a glare.

“Agent _Romanoff?_ ” Rockwell muttered disbelievingly.

“Unfortunately, the Secretary failed in his attempt to kill me,” she drawled, rounding Pierce and heading towards the desk off to the side of the room. “Again.”

“Yes, I see you met my asset,” he seethed. _Asset_. Natasha gritted her teeth together against the urge to just shoot him right then and there. “ _Again_.”

“Well, let’s hope you did a better job preparing him this time,” she shot back. Councilman Yen caught on and reached down, grabbing a free pistol on the floor and pointing it at Pierce as well, allowing Natasha to set her own down on the desk. “Wouldn’t want him to recognize Rogers again, would we?”

Pierce just smirked at her, but didn’t make any move to stop her from opening up the holographic display and getting to work.

“What are you doing?” Rockwell asked, when she started digging into the security software and _Deactivated_ began repeatedly popping up on the screen.

“She’d disabling security protocols. And dumping all of the secrets onto the internet,” Pierce explained, taking a brave step towards her.

“Including Hydra’s,” she replied flatly, ignoring his advance.

“And SHIELD’s,” he added. “If you do this, none of your past is going to remain hidden. Not Budapest, not Osaka. Not the children’s ward…not The Winter Soldier.”

Natasha’s fingers slowed in their typing. Her eyes flicked up towards Pierce, who’s mouth curved up into a smug grin.

She didn’t know SHIELD knew about James. She couldn’t remember telling them about him when she was trying to break her conditioning. Something told her Pierce was aware of that.

“Are you _sure_ you’re ready for the world to see you as you really are?”

That snapped her back, reminded her that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He knew which things would rattle her, and he knew she hadn’t told Steve about James. He was good.

She was better.

“Are _you?_ ”

Natasha finally lifted her eyes and met his, smirking at the frustrated look in them. He had to have noticed her brief hesitation, but he’d used up all his ammunition. She went back to her typing.

It only took her a couple more minutes, but she finally broke through all of the security locking her out of SHIELD’s main database. RESTRICTED ACCESS popped up, and she glanced over at the giant glass screen behind her. She needed Fury.

“Disabling the encryption is an executive order. It takes two alpha-level members,” Pierce stated, reading her mind. She glanced over at him. He was watching the screen carefully. Curiously.

“Don’t worry.” Right on cue, she heard the thumping of the helicopter approaching. “Company’s coming.”

The helicopter came into view, touching down onto the helipad right outside of Pierce’s office. He turned around, the color practically draining from his face when he realized who’d stepped out of it.

Nick stopped just inside the door with a dramatic turn of his heel, and Natasha had to resist rolling her eyes. Instead she watched him enter the room, crossing her arms over her chest as he stared Pierce down.

“You get my flowers?” Pierce asked lightly, once he’d found his voice again. Nick just glared at him. Natasha went back to the screen, preparing it for the next step in the decryption process while Nick had his moment. “I’m glad you’re here, Nick.”

“ _Really?_ ” Fury retorted, taking a few menacing steps towards him. “Because I thought _you_ had me killed.”

“You know how the game works.”

“So why make me head of SHIELD?”

“Because you were the best, and the most ruthless person I’ve ever met-“

“I did what I did to _protect_ people,” Nick replied lowly.

“Our enemies are your enemies, Nick,” Pierce shot back.

Natasha glanced back up, eyes flitting past Fury and out of the window. The carriers were too high for her to see now, but she could still hear the distant boom of explosions and rattle of gunfire. She let her eyes land on Nick and Pierce again.

“Disorder. War. It’s just a matter of time before a dirty bomb goes off in Moscow or an EMP fries Chicago. Diplomacy? A holding action, Nick. A Band-Aid. And you know where I learned that? Bogota.” Fury took a threatening step towards him. “You didn’t ask, you just did what had to be done. I can bring order to the lives of seven _billion_ people…by sacrificing twenty million. It's the next step, Nick, if you have the courage to take it.”

“No, I have the courage _not_ to.” Nick reached out, grabbing Pierce roughly by the arm, and turning him towards the large glass display beside them. Natasha tapped a few more keys on the keyboard to bring up the retinal scanner, and Nick shoved Pierce in front of it. She swiped her pistol off of the desk and approached them, raising it to aim directly at his head. Pierce chuckled.

“You don’t think we wiped your clearance from the syst-“

“I know you erased my password,” Nick cut in. “Probably deleted my retinal scan. But if you want to stay ahead of me, Mr. Secretary-“ he stepped forward and reached up, lifting his eyepatch. “You need to keep both eyes open.”

_God_ , was Nick dramatic. Natasha wanted to laugh. He turned away from Pierce, approaching the retinal scanner on the opposite side of the screen. With the gun to his head Pierce cooperated. The system completed its scan and the transfer started.

Pierce let out an irritated sign and turned away from the screen, retreating back into the room. He grabbed one of the abandoned glasses of champagne and downed it in two long gulps.

“This isn’t going to stop anything,” he grumbled. “All it’s going to do is cause more headaches for you.”

“I already have one,” Fury muttered under his breath, and Natasha huffed out a laugh as the computer signaled that the transfer was complete.

“Done.” _Too late to back out now_. She lifted her phone and opened Google. Already, the first four trending topics were related to SHIELD. The next couple were Steve’s name and the Avengers. Towards the bottom of the list was her name. “And it’s trending,” she added quickly, pushing aside the uneasiness pooling in the pit of her stomach.

Something suddenly crackled behind her, and there was a loud gasp. Natasha glanced over just in time to see Singh crumple, sparks flying out from his chest. _What the hell_ -

The pins.

Natasha had completely forgot about them. Of _course_ they weren’t biometric scanners, or trackers.

Rockwell cried out in pain from behind her and he and Yen hit the ground one after another. She whipped her gun around at Pierce and Fury did the same, but he held his phone out in front of him, finger hovering just above the screen. _Shit_.

“Unless you want a two-inch hole in your sternum, I’d put that gun down.” Natasha stared at him, gun still raised, considering her options. If she shot him, he’d have just enough time to tap the button that would activate the pin on her chest. If she didn’t, they would lose any power they had over the situation. And even if they did, he could still kill her in an instant. “That was armed the moment you pinned it on.”

She glanced over and caught Nick’s eye. They had to play this right. He sighed, frustrated, and they both lowered their guns.

Pierce kept his finger right above the screen of his phone but crossed the room to the desk. He used his free hand to tap a few buttons and bring up a map of the upper east coast. The entire thing was red. It took Natasha second to realize: _those_ _were the targets._

“Lieutenant, this is Secretary Pierce, do you copy?” he said.

“ _I copy, Mr. Secretary_.”

“Lieutenant, how much longer?”

“ _Sixty-five seconds to satellite link. Targeting grid engaged. Lowering weapons array now._ ”

Steve and Sam hadn’t linked all of the targeting systems. They were running out of time. She shot an uneasy glance over at Nick.

And then a horrifying thought suddenly floated through her brain. _James killed him_.

She tightened her jaw, shoving it to the back of her mind. She wouldn’t let herself believe it, especially when she couldn’t hear what was going on. Steve wouldn’t give up that easily. He’d at least get the job done first.

That was an equally horrifying thought.

“ _We’ve reached three thousand feet_ ,” came another voice, most likely a tech assistant. “ _SAT link coming online now_.”

“Looks like the Captain is having a bit of trouble up there,” Pierce said. Natasha shot him a glare and realized he’d been watching her. “I’m sure my asset has already taken care of him,” he added with a smug smile.

For a brief second Natasha wondered if it was worth dying just to be able to shoot him.

“ _Deploy algorithm_.”

“ _Algorithm deployed_.”

The satellite image suddenly came to life. A display on one side was flooded with photos and names, and the exact locations of those people were pinpointed one after another. She saw flashes of people and places she recognized. Steve, Sam, Maria. All of DC. Delaware, New Jersey, New York. Stark Tower. Her heart thumped hard against her chest. _Come on, Rogers…_

“Don’t worry, Agent,” Pierce said when he saw the horrified look on her face. “You’re not on it.”

Natasha’s blood ran cold.

The algorithm said she’d take their side. She wasn’t on the list. She wasn’t a threat to them. _She wasn’t a threat to Hydra_.

“ _Target saturation reached. All targets assigned._ ”

“ _Fire when ready._ ”

“ _Firing in three…two…one-_ ”

The display in front of them glitched. The sea of red covering the east coast was suddenly gone. Pierce gaped at it. The communications link went silent.

“ _No_ …”

Pierce could only stare at the display, watching as the algorithm recalibrated and zoomed in to three spots just above the Potomac river.

Natasha grinned. _He did it._

That brief sense of relief was suddenly replaced with realization: Steve was still in the helicarrier. She whipped her head around, taking several steps towards the window just as the sky exploded. She could see the helicarriers now, all three shooting at each other.

She took a few long breaths to calm herself. She didn’t know what was going on, or even that Steve was the one that inserted the last chip. It could have been Sam, who’d flown out right away. He could have jumped and landed in the water. Sam could have flown him out.

He promised her he wouldn’t get himself killed. _He promised._ Natasha desperately scanned the sky, looking for Sam, or Steve jumping from the helicarrier, _anything_.

“What a waste,” Pierce grumbled behind her.

“Still on the fence about Rogers’ chances?” she replied sarcastically. Pierce ignored her.

“Time to go, Councilwoman. This way,” he said.

Natasha finally dragged her eyes away from the wreckage above them. She couldn’t worry about Steve right now.

She had to focus. He would be okay. _He’ll be okay_.

She finally turned away from the window, but her gaze stopped on Pierce’s hand. His thumb was still hovering just above the screen of his phone. She also noticed it was black. The screen had gone into sleep mode.

The pins were electrically charged. If she could short it out…

Natasha glanced over at Nick, meeting his eyes as she turned to follow Pierce. Just long enough to shoot him a look. _Distract him_. He nodded.

“Come on…you’re gonna fly me out of here.”

“You know,” Nick said, once Pierce had led her past him and his back was to them, “there was a time I would’ve taken a bullet for you.”

Pierce glanced back at Nick. Natasha adjusted her hand, discreetly sliding out an electric disc from her watch. _Let’s hope this works…_

“You already did,” Pierce replied smugly. Natasha lifted her hand. _Here goes nothing_ … “And you will again when it’s usef-“

Her thumb pressed down on the center of the disc and blinding pain shot through her hand, down her arm, and then spread through her entire body at once. She let out a soft cry of pain and stumbled, her vision blurring before everything went black.

_Romanoff_.

Natasha’s eyes flew open to find Steve standing in front of her. He was in his uniform, the dark blue stealth suit SHIELD had given him. The one he always wore on their missions together. He reached up and pulled his helmet off and grinned at her, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“Steve?”

He took a few steps towards her, raising a gloved hand and pushing her hair back from her face.

_Don’t die._

A gunshot rang out, then another. Glass shattered. Steve gasped for breath, his hand falling from the side of her face to clasp over his stomach. The smile was gone, terror flooding through his eyes instead.

“ _Steve!”_

Someone was calling her name. The voice was muffled, and definitely not Steve’s. She spun around but couldn’t see anything. Her head _killing_ her.

“Natasha…”

_Shut up. My head hurts._

“Natasha! Come _on!_ ”

_Nick?_

Pain suddenly flooded through her, her head absolutely on _fire._ She screwed up her face against the pain, eyelids fluttering. She had to get up. She didn’t know where she was, just that she needed to _wake up_.

Finally she lifted one heavy eyelid. She was on the ground. In the Triskelion. Pierce’s office. The helicarriers. Nick, hovering above her.

“Ow,” she groaned, closing her eyes again. She took a breath and turned her head, squinting against he fluorescent lights until Nick’s face came into focus. “Those really do sting…”

“Come on. We have to go.” Nick grabbed her arm, helping her up. She held tight to him, everything spinning for a few seconds after she got to her feet.

“Did it work?” she muttered, trying to focus on the room around her.

“Yeah. You recalibrated the pin, I had just enough time to shoot the motherfucker.”

She found the evidence several feet away: Pierce, lying on the ground, two gunshots in his chest, shattered glass from the wall he’d fallen through scattered all around him. He was still breathing, but they were raspy and irregular.

Nick made sure she was steady before they left Pierce there, exiting his office onto the helipad. She blinked a few times, adjusting her sensitive eyes to the sunlight. The helicarriers were still shooting at each other, one of them falling sideways and slamming right into another. They crumbled, the sound bursting painfully in her eardrums.

She climbed into the helicopter, quickly finding her stealth suit where Nick had stored it for her. Fury climbed in after her and started the engine while she slid it on under Hawley’s pencil skirt. Once she was zipped up and the skirt, jacket, and blouse were discarded somewhere behind the seat, Natasha pulled herself forward and grabbed a headset.

She could barely hear anything over the chaos. The two destroyed helicarriers were crashing to the ground, water flooding the basement of the Triskelion. Fury lifted them off the helipad and out of the way of the third helicarrier, which was falling straight towards the building.

“What’s going on?” she shouted over the explosions below and the whirring of the propellors.

“ _I don’t know!”_ came Maria’s distressed voice. “ _Steve’s comms went silent right after I fired!_ ”

“Steve?” Natasha said into her headset. “Steve, come in!”

“ _Natasha…”_ Maria’s voice cracked. “ _I think he’s still on the-_ “

_“_ Rogers! _”_

The last helicarrier was gaining speed. It tilted and rammed into the side of the Triskelion.

“ _Please tell me you’ve got that chopper in the air!_ ” Sam yelled suddenly.

“Sam! Where are you?” Natasha called.

“ _Forty-first floor, northwest corner!_ ”

Nick turned sharply and made a beeline for the building. Natasha grabbed ahold of the side of the open door, bracing herself against the door from her seat so she could lean out of the side of it, scanning for Steve. If Sam wasn’t with him…and his wings weren’t working…he couldn’t have flown him out of the carrier.

_One thing at a time_.

“We’re on it, stay where you are!”

“ _Not an option!_ ”

Nick twisted the helicopter again as they reached the end of the building, eyeing the windows carefully. Suddenly, about ten stories above them, Sam crashed through the window. Natasha pulled back on her seat and held on tight as Fury tilted the helicopter sideways. Sam flew through the door and smacked hard against the opposite side, causing the door to break off completely and fall towards the river. She reached for him, grabbing onto his ankle and stopping him from sliding straight through.

“Forty-first floor! Forty _-first_!” he shouted, once she’d pulled him back in and Fury steadied the helicopter.

“It’s not like they put the floor numbers on the outside of the building!” Nick shot back. Sam fell against the seat of the cockpit, trying to catch his breath, while Natasha leaned back out in front of the door. She glanced up at the helicarrier above them as it tore through the Triskelion.

“Hill!” she called, bringing the microphone of her headset farther up to her mouth. “Where’s Steve? You got a location on Rogers?”

“ _No!_ ” They heard gunshots ringing out over the line. “ _But I need extraction ASAP. They keep coming_.”

“On our way,” Nick answered.

“Steve!” Natasha yelled as Nick swerved the helicopter again. She knew it was useless, but she tried anyway. “God dammit Rogers, answer me!”

“Bucky…he was...on the carrier…” Sam panted between deep, raspy breaths. Natasha whipped her head around to look at him. He gave her a miserable, apologetic look. “I don’t…I don’t think he got off before-”

“We’ll find him,” Natasha insisted, cutting him off. She grabbed her mic again. “Rogers, I swear to god-“

The feed suddenly crackled with static and she trailed off. Natasha froze, her mind flipping through every possible reason: the mic in his glove could have been damaged, crushed or fallen out…or waterlogged...

“What?” Sam asked. He pushed himself up straighter where he was sitting on the floor. Natasha’s eyes fell on him again, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer. The look on Sam’s face told her she didn’t need to.

Fury landed on top of the control center just long enough for Maria to hop into the helicopter, then shot upwards again.

“Circle around again,” Natasha said.

“Natasha-“

“We’re not going to leave him!”

Nick and Maria shared a glance, but no one argued her and Nick curved back around. Natasha ripped the headset off, the static worsening her headache, and tossed it over to Maria before leaning out of the door again, sweeping her eyes over the wreckage.

_Come on, Steve,_ she thought desperately. _Where the hell are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and all the kudos and comments <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://capsiclewidow.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/capsiclewidow)


	8. Chapter 8

It was cold.

_So cold._

_Not again._

Steve could feel himself falling. Fading. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen. Eventually he gave up, letting himself float farther and farther from the surface of the river. The image of Bucky was burned into the back of his eyelids, confused and terrified, metal fist raised but frozen as Steve fell away from him.

_He remembered._

He needed to breathe. He inhaled and water flooded his lungs, burned his throat, weighted him down.

The job was done. They’d succeeded in destroying the helicarriers, and the world was safe.

Most importantly (when did that become most important?), _Natasha_ was safe. He’d heard her in his ear, yelling at him to respond. He’d ignored her, pushed her voice to the back of his mind. He couldn’t let her distract him.

_Don’t die, Rogers._

She was going to be pissed. But at least she was safe.

_Promise me._

The sense of peace he’d been feeling suddenly faded away and was replaced with overwhelming guilt. She’d made him swear he wouldn’t let Bucky kill him. He’d made that promise knowing that he might still let her down.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t ignored her. He wished he could apologize and say goodbye. And he wished he would have kissed her that morning when she was standing there, so close, eyes sparkling with nerves and determination.

He was too late. _Again_.

The guilt quickly turned into panic. He was going to die, and this time, he wasn't ready. He wasn’t ready to let her go.

His eyes flew open and stung against the water. Everything was dark and no matter how much he screamed at his body to push upwards, it wouldn’t listen. He took another gasping breath, his lungs burning as they filled with more water. He continued falling, the light fading fast, until everything went black.

They circled the crumbling Triskelion three more times. An entire corner of it had collapsed, and agents were still trying to escape the building, but with one of the bridges off the island destroyed, it was a complete disaster.

The helicarriers were all on the ground now, thick black smoke pouring out of the wreckage and billowing into the sky. It was getting hard to see through the haze. After the third trip around, Natasha directed Nick to sweep the banks of the river. Maybe he’d jumped and swam to shore.

_Maybe his body washed up on it_.

She pushed that thought as far back as possible. She refused to let herself believe he was dead. Not until she found him.

Fury was getting impatient, she could tell. He was supposed to be dead, and they needed to get him as far away from the Triskelion as possible before the FBI showed up.

“Holy shit, I see him!”

Natasha spun around, crossing the small space of the helicopter where Sam had been leaning out of the other door. He pointed down the river, farther than Fury had swept before. Sure enough, she could barely make out Steve lying on the riverbank.

He wasn’t moving.

“Call an ambulance, and then you two need get him out of here.” She glanced over to Maria, who nodded. Her face was stoic but her eyes reflected the same desperate uncertainty that Natasha felt.

Nick lowered them to the ground and Natasha leapt out of the helicopter before he even had a chance to land it. She rolled to her feet and took off across the bank towards Steve, Sam following close behind. He was completely still, lying flat on his back.

"Steve!"

She dropped to her knees besides him. The entire right side of his face was swollen, and cuts littered his skin. There was blood _everywhere._ He wasn’t moving or breathing. She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck and concentrated.

There was a pulse. Weak, but it was there.

She moved the hand at his pulse up to cup his face in her palm. He let out a weak cough, water and blood dribbling down his chin instead.

His lungs were full of water. He was going to drown if they didn’t do something.

Sam kneeled down on the other side of him, concentrating on the giant wound on his abdomen that was bleeding profusely. “GSW…doesn’t look like it hit anything vital though,” he explained, covering it with his hands to put pressure on it. “We need to get him breathing. You know CPR?”

Natasha nodded, then rested her hands on his chest and started pumping. After a few seconds she bent down and pressed her lips to his - god, they were _ice cold_ \- and blew in a steady stream of air.

She kept that up and, after a few more agonizingly long seconds, he finally coughed again and took a hard, ragged breath. He gasped, still coughing up blood and water, but he was _breathing_. Natasha finally let herself feel a little bit of relief and took his face in her hands again.

"Steve?” His eyes fluttered open. She rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone - the one that wasn’t split open - and gave him a small encouraging smile when he met her gaze. His eyes were glassy and unfocused but he was definitely coherent enough to look straight at her. “Hey, Soldier.”

“Nat-“ He coughed violently, but still attempted to speak through it.

“Shush, Rogers.”

“M’kay.” He quieted, taking a longer, deeper breath and closing his eyes again. Natasha maneuvered herself to sit sideways next to him, lifting his head onto her lap so it was at an angle and he wouldn’t choke on the water he was coughing up. She kept one hand firmly on the side of his face and used the other to reach up and gently brush his wet hair back from his forehead.

"Is he alive?"

Natasha whipped her head around towards the source of soft, low voice coming from the trees behind her. Her hand twitched, wanting to reach down and pull out the pistol on her hip, but when she saw the way James was standing there, hidden and watching her, she reconsidered. He was staring at Steve intently, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Did you pull him out?” Natasha asked carefully. She shot Sam a quick look, warning him to stand down. Sam was tense, but he nodded reluctantly and Natasha turned her attention back to James. He swallowed hard and glanced up to meet her gaze, his wide eyes confused and terrified and overwhelmed all at the same time.

"Is he _alive?_ " he asked again.

“Yeah.”

James' expression remained unchanged. He glanced between her and Steve, finally settling on her. "I know you."

"Yeah," she said again, softer this time, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

James averted his gaze, staring blankly behind her, in the direction of the Triskelion. Natasha watched him carefully until Steve suddenly coughed again. She glanced down at him, briefly distracted, and when she looked back up James was gone.

“You’re just gonna let him go?”

She could feel Sam’s eyes on her, but kept her own focused on the spot James had just been standing. She tried to come up with a good enough explanation, but the words weren’t forming. She just nodded.

He remembered her. He hadn’t answered her question, but she was pretty sure he remembered Steve too, at least enough to save his life.

The real James - _her_ James - was still in there. So was Bucky. Something Steve had said or done had gotten through to him, broken through whatever they’d probably done to him last night after he’d failed to eliminate them. With no one left to give him orders, he wasn’t dangerous. He deserved the chance to figure out who he was.

“Nat…”

Steves voice snapped her out of it, and she dropped her gaze to focus on him again.

“I’m right here.”

He seemed to be breathing okay now, still semi conscious, except he’d started shivering. When had he started shivering? She slid her free hand up again to cover his forehead. He was burning up. _Shit_.

“Nat…’m c-cold…” His eyes flew open, searching frantically until they met Natasha’s. He was panting, struggling over his words, face spasming against the pain in his abdomen. She rubbed the pad of her thumb over his cheek again, trying to calm him down.

“I know. Help is coming, okay?”

“Nat-“ He shakily raised his arm and grabbed her wrist tightly. “Ice…don’t…donlemme…donwanna go back…inthe i-ice…”

An ache shot through her chest, and she bit down on her bottom lip against the stinging in her eyes. She knew he had nightmares, she’d witnessed him waking up from them before. She’d talked him down from a few panic attacks. But she’d never seen him this terrified of _anything_ before. There was so much delirious fear and desperation swirling in his cloudy eyes as he watched her.

“I won’t.”

“P-please.” He tightened his hand around her wrist, and even as weak as he was, she could feel her bones shifting. “I’m…s-so cold. N-Nat…t-tasha…I c-can’t…cantgoback…”

“Hey-” She turned his head to force him to look at her. He met her gaze again with glazed eyes. “You trust me?” He gave her a single shaky, weak nod. “Then _trust me_. I won’t let you go back, okay? No more ice. I promise.”

“‘M s-sorry,” he choked out.

She wanted to laugh. Of course he was apologizing right now, and god only knew why. “For what?“

“T-told you…I w-wouldn’t…”

“Don’t worry about that now. I’ll reprimand you later.” He nodded and closed his eyes. She could have sworn she saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“I hear them,” Sam said suddenly. Sirens were blaring off in the distance, getting closer and closer. “They’re almost here, Steve. Just hang on a few more minutes.”

He didn’t respond.

“Steve?” His grip on her wrist had loosened, but he was still holding it firmly on his chest. She used it to shake him gently. He gasped out a weak, raspy breath, eyelids fluttering open again.“ _Hey_. I need you to stay awake, okay?”

“C-can’t. S-so t-t-tired…”

“I know. Help is coming. Just stay awake.”

He didn’t reply, but she could tell how hard he was working to keep his eyes open. She pulled her hand out of his grip and cupped both sides of his face, turning him to face her. He gazed up at her, muttering her name between breaths mixed with unintelligible mumblings about being cold and Bucky and the ice. Her vision blurred over and she blinked furiously, chomping down hard on her bottom lip, willing herself to hold back the tears that were threatening to escape.

“N-Nat…I c-can’t…”

“Yes, you can. You are _not_ allowed to die on me, Rogers. Okay?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he breathed, and Natasha choked out a laugh, causing a single tear to fall down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away with her shoulder, desperately hoping Sam hadn’t noticed.

The sirens finally reached them, stopping on the other side of the small line of trees separating them from a walking path, and group of paramedics came barreling down the hill with a stretcher. Sam motioned for her to take his spot, so she reluctantly pulled herself away from Steve’s head, replacing Sam’s hands with her own over his abdomen. His blood seeped through her fingers, soaking her gloves.

Sam ran to meet the paramedics and fill them in. When they reached the riverbank it took all of them to lift Steve’s huge frame and get him onto the stretcher. Natasha stayed close, only stepping back when they loaded him into the ambulance.

“Come on, I’ll get us a-“

“I’m going with them.” Sam didn’t look convinced. She lowered her voice. “Hydra is out in the open now. We can’t trust anyone. Someone needs to be with him.”

Sam considered that for a second but ultimately agreed. He told her he’d meet her there and she climbed up into the ambulance, taking a seat near Steve’s head. They’d already gotten to work trying to stop the blood and placing a ventilator over his mouth to help him breathe. She stayed out of the paramedics’ way, sliding her hand into his and squeezing hard. She didn’t let go of him until they’d gotten him to the hospital and stopped her just short of the operating room, leaving her standing alone by herself behind a giant set of locked doors.

She exhaled for what felt like the first time all weekend.

A nurse ushered her out of the hallway and back into a private waiting room. She numbly took a seat, her heart thumping so hard in her chest that all she could do was stare down at her hands.

Her hands, stained red with Steve’s blood.

Her gloves, soaked with it.

As she stared at them they started shaking, and she finally gave in, letting tears stream down her face. Everything she’d felt that morning came crashing down on top of her: the guilt, the uncertainty, the blinding fear of losing him. The anger and betrayal and confusion. The searing pain in her head and her shoulder that she’d forgotten was there. It all raged through her, multiplying, gathering in her chest so tightly she thought she would explode.

And then the thought came out of nowhere, briefly crossing her mind before suddenly blossoming into an overwhelming and undeniable realization that there was a very good chance she was in love with Steve Rogers, and if he died, it would destroy her.

It sent a wave of terror flooding through her. She could practically hear James’ screams as they strapped him to the chair, forcing her to watch as they erased her existence from his mind. She could see his face, plain as day, as he stared at her…lifeless, soulless, ruthless as he tried to kill her. She could still see Steve’s glazed eyes, staring up at her as he bled out.

This was her fault, for being too weak and terrified to tell Steve about James. Her fault for letting him face him alone. Her fault for being selfish, for making him promise not to get hurt protecting someone who wouldn’t stop until he’d killed him.

“Are you okay?”

Natasha glanced up, staring blankly at Sam for a few long seconds before she could comprehend that he was standing in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed him entering the room. How long had she been sitting there?

She just nodded.

“You should go-“

“I’m fine.”

She leaned back in her chair and averted her gaze. Sam collapsed into a chair opposite her, letting out a long sigh.

“You’ve had two concussions in the last three days. Your shoulder is bleeding, which means your stitches opened up. _And_ you’re covered in blood.”

He had a point.

“I c-”

She caught herself and stopped abruptly. Sam didn’t need to know what was going on in her mind. He didn’t need to know that the thought of being any farther away from Steve made her nauseous, that she wouldn’t be able to function properly until she knew he was going to be okay.She _couldn’t_ leave him.

“He’ll be in surgery a while longer,” he said, his voice softer, as if he could read her mind. “Go clean up. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“You don’t have my number,” she pointed out flatly. He let out a frustrated sigh that was thick with pity, but didn’t argue. It annoyed her, even if she was oddly comforted by his concern.

“Hey,” he said after a few long seconds, when she hadn’t made a move to leave. “What Barnes said…”

“Steve doesn’t know,” she answered quickly. She could feel his eyes on her. “Please don’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” he promised. She finally forced herself to meet his gaze. “But you know you’re gonna have to eventually, right?”

“I know,” she breathed.

Suddenly it was all too much, the way he was looking at her and the overwhelming guilt flooding through her. So she gave in, desperately needing to be alone. Wordlessly she stood and commanded her feet take her out of the room.

She sought out the nurses station to find out if there was someone available to stitch her back up. The woman she’d approached looked irritated and unconcerned until Natasha unzipped her suit just enough to pull it free of her injured shoulder, revealing the blood that was soaking through the bandages she hadn’t bothered to change since last night. She was ushered into a room down the hall and they took all of her vitals, cleaned her up, and recorded her information.

“Name?”

“Natal-“ She stopped abruptly. Natalie Rushman didn’t exist anymore. And besides, if someone ever tried to look up her medical records, they’d now find far more interesting information than getting a bullet wound stitched up. She shifted uncomfortably. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Birthday?”

_I don’t know._

“November 22nd,” she lied. If her SHIELD file could be accessed by Google, she might as well be consistent. The woman at the computer shot her an impatient glare.

“Year...?”

“Nineteen…uh-“ she paused, suddenly drawing a blank. Eighty two? Eighty three? She couldn’t even remember what was in her records anymore. She didn’t really care, either, except she wasn’t in the mood to make a joke about her skincare routine keeping her young. “Nineteen eighty-four.”

“Any chance you might be preg-?”

“No.”

“Before we administer any drugs we need to-“

“There isn’t and I don’t need meds,” she interrupted, feeling a little guilty about her tone, but mostly annoyed. Morphine would be useless but a bottle or four of vodka sounded _great_.

The woman asked a few more questions and then left her to wait for a doctor. It took forever, of course, with more pressing emergencies coming through from the Triskelion. After a good half hour of staring blankly at the floor, a new woman walked in. She smiled warmly at Natasha, who immediately noticed how exhausted she looked. She gave her minimal answers while she was stitched up, ignoring the attempts at small talk to wonder how this woman did her job, seeing things as devastating as this almost every day and still having enough warmth in her heart to be kind, especially to someone like her.

She didn’t wait to be discharged. Once she was stitched, cleaned, and left alone in her room again, she pulled the arm of her suit back up and walked out. She almost turned back in the direction of the waiting room, but then caught sight of her hands. Dried blood - _Steve’s blood -_ was still covering them. She felt another wave of nausea and suddenly couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. So she went in the opposite direction, towards the elevators that would lead to the parking garage.

Her Corvette was still there and had been left untouched. She retrieved the bag she’d thrown into the trunk a couple days ago and returned to the emergency room, finding a small public restroom down the hall from where Sam was waiting. She peeled off her suit and shoved it into the bottom of the bag with her gear, not caring that it would probably ruin it and everything in it. She just needed it gone. Then she washed herself off in the sink, using wads of cheap paper towels and soap from the dispenser to scrub her skin until it was irritated and pink. She had to wash her hands three times before she could get rid of Steve’s dried blood underneath her fingernails. She wiped the dirt off of her face too and used her wet hands to smooth her fingers through her hair. It was still filthy, but at least looked a _little_ better than it had before.

Once clean enough to deal with until she could shower, she pulled out the jeans and tank top she’d changed out of before they’d left the hospital on Saturday. Despite the fact that she was in a hospital, she secured an extra pistol from the bag into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, then slid a combat knife inside one of her boots. She was digging around in the bag for her jacket when her hand touched something soft.

It was Steve’s sweatshirt.

She pulled it out, turning the dark blue fabric in her hands. Before thinking better of it she pulled the sweatshirt on and zipped it up over her tank top. It was huge on her, but it was warm and had immediately engulfed her in the scent of his laundry detergent and aftershave and _him._

_God_ , she was pathetic.

But still, it comforted her in a way she wasn’t ready to let herself admit, so she shoved everything down to zip up the bag and left the bathroom before she could talk some sense into herself.

At least Sam would leave her alone now, she reasoned, as she made her way back through the halls of the ER towards their little waiting room. And now that she’d cleaned herself up, she’d probably be able to convince him to do the same, leaving her alone for at least a little bit longer.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I can’t give you that information.”

The voice of the same irritated nurse she’d harassed earlier filled her ears before she even turned the corner to walk by the nurse’s station. She was about to determine a new route back to the room in order to avoid her, but then she heard a new voice.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to do your job, but I _do_ know him.”

Natasha stopped dead in her tracks when she finally rounded the corner, staring at Clint as he argued with the nurse.

“Yeah, and Thor is my boyfriend,” she replied sarcastically. “I’m sorry, sir, I-“

“I have ID. I’m…I’m an Avenger. Don’t you-“ Clint frowned, suddenly faced with a new problem: the realization that no one behind the counter recognized him.

“Clint-“ Natasha choked out finally. He whipped his head towards her, ignoring the woman rolling her eyes at him. She all but sprinted down the hall and dropped the bag at their feet before crashing into him.

“Thank god you’re okay,” he mumbled into her hair as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“I told you to stay home,” she replied, her voice muffled against the leather of his jacket.

“I didn’t listen.” He pulled back, reaching up to grab her arms with each hand. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not hurt, or-“

“I’m fine.” She shot a look over to the nurse, who was now watching them curiously. One of the men behind her was glancing between them and her phone, his eyes wide. “Not here,” she added under her breath, discomfort settling in the pit of her stomach. There was a reason she kept her Avenger status quiet. She pulled herself out of his grasp and picked up her bag, leading him away from the suddenly star-struck nurses and down the hall.

When she pushed open the door to the waiting room, she found Sam dozing in the same chair she’d left him in. He jumped at the sudden intrusion and sat up straight, eyeing Clint when he trailed in behind Natasha.

“Clint, Sam Wilson. Sam, Clint.”

“Yeah, I know you.” Sam stood and crossed the room, extending his hand to shake Clint’s. “Hawkguy, right?”

“Hawk _eye_ ,” Clint corrected under his breath before shooing Natasha a curious, sideways glance.

“He just helped us save the world. He’s cool,” she explained flatly. Sam opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off before he could speak. “Could you, um…give us a minute?”

“Of course.” Sam offered them a small smile and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked behind him, Natasha turned on Clint, reaching behind her and swiping the pistol out from the waistband of her jeans, finding herself looking down the barrel of a gun.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Natasha’s heart pounding. The fact that he’d had the same reaction as she did told her all she needed to know.

“You’re not Hydra?” she asked shakily.

“ _Fuck_ no. You?”

“No.”

They both lowered their weapons and the second she’d shoved hers back into her jeans he closed the space between them and pulled her into a tight hug.

“You really thought I was a fuckin’ Nazi?”

“You really thought they’d turned me?” she asked softly, instead of admitting how relieved she was to have been wrong about all the horrifying possibilities that had haunted her for two days. He just hugged her tighter.

“Of _course_ not. But...” he trailed off. He didn’t need to finish. How could they ever have predicted _any_ of this? It was in their nature to be cautious. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, her hands grasping the front of his jacket tightly.

When she didn’t move Clint pulled away and guided her towards one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. They took a seat, and she started from the beginning. By the time she’d finished filling him in on everything that had happened since Nick called her into his office on Friday, he was staring numbly at the floor.

“So this entire time…”

“Yeah.”

“And…they thought you’d…”

“ _Yeah_.” The tone of her voice must have changed because he suddenly glanced over at her.

“You didn’t.” She averted her gaze. “You didn’t side with them, Tasha. They were wrong.”

“They had a point though,” she replied softly. “And it doesn’t matter. I was always doing what they wanted. Pierce was the one who allowed me to join SHIELD. They trained me to…to…” she trailed off. Clint didn’t reply but adjusted his arm so he could rest his hand on her knee. “He knew about James.”

“Nat-“ Clint warned, but she ignored him.

“He knew about him. He _knew_ I hadn’t told Steve.” Natasha took a shuddering breath. “If I’d have told him-“

“Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for any of this.” Clint squeezed her knee and she adjusted herself away from him. “Tash, come on. You know it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“It wouldn’t?” she snapped, shooting him a glare. “He didn’t know what he was up against. He was distracted. He’s probably dying, _right now_ , and I could have-“

Her words caught up with her, and before she could stop herself she choked out an involuntary sob. She buried her face in her hands to avoid the look she knew he was giving her.

“Holy shit,” Clint breathed after a moment of silence. She lifted her head just enough to glance over at him. “Holy _shit_ you’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Her entire body tensed and she glared at him. “You _are_.”

“Love is for children,” she snapped before she could stop herself.

“You love _me_ , don’t you?” Clint bumped her arm and she leaned into him, tilting her head to rest on his shoulder.

“Not at the moment,” she muttered under her breath. Clint adjusted himself to slide his arm behind her and pull her into a sideways hug, kissing her hair lightly.

“You’re allowed to be happy…you know that, right?” he mumbled into her hair.

“Drop it, Barton.” She closed her eyes and sighed when she realized how harsh it had come out. “Please,” she added softly.

“Consider it dropped,” he replied, then added lowly, “For now.”

That was as good as she was going to get, it seemed, so she was satisfied with that answer for the time being. She was too _goddamn_ tired, both mentally and physically. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been this utterly exhausted.

But Clint was okay, he was _there_ , the world was safe for now, and Steve most likely wouldn’t be out of surgery for hours. So she let herself drift, finally making the effort to compartmentalize and clear her mind.

Natasha hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep until she’d woken up and found herself staring sideways at a passed out Sam across the brightly lit room. She blinked a few times and realized she’d woken because Clint was shaking her shoulder. She pushed herself up from where she was lying awkwardly across the uncomfortable plastic sofa with her head in Clint’s lap, groaning at the ache that shot up her back and through her shoulder.

“What time izzit?” she mumbled, glancing blearily around the room and letting her eyes fall on Clint.

“After nine,” he answered. “The nurse just came in. Rogers is out of surgery.”

“What?” She sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake. She had so many questions, but the only thing that came out was, “He’s okay?”

“Yeah. Beat to hell but alive. He’s in recovery. She said you could go see him now.”

“Wilson.” Sam grunted in his sleep but didn’t move. He was sitting upright, slouched across the back of his chair, arms folded across his chest and his head hanging sideways at an awkward angle. “ _Sam._ ”

“Huh?” He blinked at her like he’d forgotten where he was. “What happened?”

“Steve’s out of surgery,” she explained. He just nodded sleepily and sat up, stretching his back a bit and yawning.

“You go. I’ll catch up.”

Natasha stood and then glanced over at Clint. He raised an eyebrow at her - if she had more energy she’d probably have punched him for it - but still stood to follow her out of the room.

Once in the hallway he took the lead, wordlessly pointing her down a hallway to the right. The door stopped in front of was cracked open, dim light shining out from behind it. She froze before she could push her way into room.

“What’s wrong?”

Natasha couldn’t look at him. She just stared at the sterile white metal door, visions of Steve choking on the water in his lungs, blood everywhere and shivering violently underneath her flooding her mind. He had to look better now than he had before, right?

“You want me to go in with you?” Clint asked when she didn’t move. Natasha finally braved a glance over at him.

“No.” She let out a frustrated sigh, eyes falling back on the door. “I’m being an idiot.”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it…” Natasha glared at him. “Go. I’ll wait out here.”

She nodded, and he reached over to wrap his hand around hers and squeeze it gently before turning towards a set of chairs across the hall. She took a deep breath - _stop being such an idiot_ \- and finally pushed open the door.

He did look better, but not by much. The serum had been working overtime, it seemed. The bruise over his right eye was huge but had already turned an awful yellowish-purple color, and the cut that spread across his cheek was healing under the stitches. There was an IV in his right wrist that was pumping enough fluids and medication into him to combat his fast metabolism.

After assessing him from a distance for a few long seconds Natasha finally took a deep breath and approached the side of his bed. Seeing him like this, so pale and weak, made her heart ache. She carefully reached out and let her fingers slide between his, grasping his hand gently in her own.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaking even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

He was hooked up to several different machines, and the only reaction she received was their steady chorus of beeps. She breathed through a silent sob, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

_You’re in love with him, aren’t you?_

Clint’s words floated through her brain, so loudly he may as well have been standing right next to her. She asked herself the question even though she knew the answer: _was_ she?

Her eyes scanned over Steve again, and she let herself consider it. What would that mean? They weren’t partners anymore. He wasn’t her commanding officer. SHIELD was gone and she had no idea where the Avengers would go from here. _Technically_ , she could-

She could what? It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? There was no way inhell. He was _Captain America_ for fuck’s sake. He was going to marry some wholesome girl like Sharon Carter and live happily ever after with loads of beautiful, genetically enhanced, blonde haired, blue eyed, all-American kids.

Natasha was the complete opposite of wholesome. She didn’t have _relationships_. She didn’t date. She wasn’t the type to get picked up at seven on the dot by a man much too good for her, taken to a fancy restaurant only to make uncomfortable small talk over an overpriced, probably unsatisfying meal. Her idea of a relationship was the ( _very_ ) occasional one-night fling with someone who had no idea who or what she was; and honestly, it was usually born out of boredom. The only thing she knew how to give him wouldn’t be enough, and what he _would_ want was too much to ask of her.

But her _biggest_ problem? The longer she stared at him, the more certain she was that she was, in fact, in love with him.

_Fuck_.

She needed to leave.

Natasha dropped his hand and spun around on her heel, exiting the room without looking back. Clint was waiting for her in the hallway, glancing up in alarm when she suddenly appeared.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” she replied flatly. “I need you to do me a favor.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she didn’t give him the chance. “I need you to go to my apartment. Liho is with the neighbor downstairs.” Clint just frowned at her. She didn’t let that stop her, rambling the words quickly before she could talk herself out of it. “Can you take her with you when you go back home?”

“Natasha-“ Clint started, but she cut him off.

“I…I have to stay here for a few days. To talk to the…the press, and…and then-“

“Tash, _breathe_.” Hadn’t she been? She met Clint’s eyes, suddenly realizing she was dizzy and on the verge of hyperventilating. He took one arm in each hand and gave her a hard look. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You’re going to run. _Don’t_.”

“I’m not _running_. I’m-“

She was. She was running. She was going to get as far away from Steve and Hydra and SHIELD and the Avengers as she possibly could, and then she was going to run even farther just for good measure. She didn’t belong here, not when one of her many ghosts had nearly gotten Steve killed, not when she was selfish enough to even _consider_ that he would ever want her, friend or otherwise, especially after everything she’d done to hurt him. Not when she’d been stupid enough to let herself get this goddamn compromised in the first place. Something was _seriously_ wrong with her, and she needed to fix it before she hurt any more people she cared about.

“I’ll get Liho,” Clint promised. He slid his hands up to cup her face, running his thumbs across her cheekbones to calm her down before she spiraled even further. “Come stay with us for a while. Laura’s happy to have you, and you know the kids would be thrilled.”

“I know,” she breathed, once she had control of her voice again. She took a few long breaths before lifting her eyes to meet his again. “I…I won’t go anywhere without saying goodbye. I promise.”

“I guess that’s as good as I’m gonna get, huh?” He offered her a smile, which she tried to return. “Go back in there. Be there when he wakes up. Call me later?”

Natasha nodded. He leaned in and touched his forehead lightly against hers for a few seconds before dropping his hands to pull her into a tight hug. And then he was gone, retreating down the hall and leaving her staring at Steve’s door again.


	9. Chapter 9

_DAYS AFTER THE FALL OF SHIELD: 1_

_“You trust me?”_

Of course he trusted her.

_“No more ice. I promise.”_

_Promise._ She’d trusted him, too. He’d promised her he wouldn’t do this.

“ _I’m sorry_.” He wasn’t sure if the words were even coming out of his mouth. Was he even still alive?

 _“Steve…”_ That wasn’t Natasha. Sam? Was he there too? “ _Just…a few more minutes.”_

He didn’t have a few minutes. It didn’t feel like it, at least. Everything hurt. _Everything._ He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. He could barely talk or see anything. And he was _freezing_. He hadn’t been this cold since the ice.

 _No more ice_. Natasha promised him.

She was calling his name. He gasped, forcing his eyes open even though they burned, even though he was so tired and just wanted to sleep _._

_“I need you to stay awake, okay?”_

He couldn’t do it.

Her face suddenly came into view, her bright red hair and sparkling green eyes. The breaths he was already struggling to take got caught in his burning throat. _God,_ she was beautiful.

“Help is coming. Just stay awake.”

He couldn’t. He was too tired. He didn’t know how much longer he had. He tried to tell her so, but he couldn’t tell if his mouth was even forming words.

“You are _not_ allowed to die on me Rogers. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He must have said that out loud, because she laughed. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He _had_ to stay awake, if only for the opportunity to make her laugh again.

She disappeared from his line of sight but he could still feel her, gripping his hand tightly, softly telling him to hold on.

He was trying. He was trying _so hard_.

_“I’m so sorry, Steve.”_

Something was beeping. It started out quiet, so quiet it didn’t bother him, but had begun to grow unnecessarily loud. It was nearly unbearable, each one sending an ache through his head.

And then his eyes were open. All he saw was little grey textured squares. He had no idea what he was looking at. 

The ceiling. He was staring at the ceiling.

Wait. Was he alive?

Steve blinked. Everything went out of focus for a few seconds so he blinked again until the squares came back. Was he in the hospital? He had no recollection of being _brought_ to one, but he figured it was safe to assume that’s where someone would have taken him.

Someone. Who was someone?

He closed his eyes again tried to piece together what happened. He remembered falling from the helicarrier, and he remembered seeing Bucky’s arm reaching for him. He remembered Natasha most of all, her eyes filling with tears as she desperately tried to keep him awake.

 _Natasha_.

The beeps weren’t the only thing he could hear, he realized. Small, even breaths, almost as loud as the machines he was hooked up to. He opened his eyes again and let his head fall sideways against the pillow.

He was right. It _was_ her. She was slumped in a chair several feet away. Her eyes were closed and her head was at an awkward angle, half on the back of the chair and half against her shoulder.

“Na-”

He choked, instantly thrown into a fit of coughing that made his lungs burn and his head throb. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to inhale but wheezing every time he attempted to do so.

The next time he opened his eyes he found himself staring into Natasha’s, wide and unblinking, sparkling bright green and watching him carefully only a short distance away. She reached over and rested her hand on the side of his face, keeping him still while she guided a straw into his mouth.

The water was room temperature and he couldn’t swallow much of it without feeing nauseous, but it tasted _wonderful_. It coated his throat enough for him to finally suck in a deep breath, then another, and then several more after that.

“You alright?” He blinked over at her, his eyes wet with cough-induced tears, and nodded. “More water?”

He nodded again and she brought the straw back up to his mouth. He gulped down the rest of what was in the cup, and when she pulled it away he was finally able to clear his throat and speak.

“What happened?” It came out raspy and irritated his throat, but didn’t make him cough. Natasha busied herself with crossing the room and filling the cup with more water from the little sink against the wall.

“You disobeyed a direct order, that’s what.” She glanced back at him and offered him a small, sideways grin before shutting off the water and returning to the side of the bed. “Barnes pulled you out. We found you down the river from the Triskelion. Here-“

She helped him drink again, and he got half of the cup down. When he was done, she sat it down on the table next to his bed.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I’m always okay.” The corner of her lips curved upwards into a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Sam too. He was here until about an hour ago when I finally convinced him to go home.”

Steve thought about that. It was clearly late, if the darkness of the room was any indication. She was wearing his sweater, the dark blue one she’d made him change out of the other day. Her hair had been thrown up into a messy bun, and there were a few smudges of dirt and blood on her face around her hairline. Her eyes were red-rimmed and had dark circles underneath them. She frowned at him, a little crease forming between her brows.

“What?”

“How long have you been here?”

She just shrugged, averting his gaze. “A few hours. We wanted to make sure one of us stayed with you in case Hydra decided to come looking for you again.”

A _few_ hours? The helicarriers launched right around eight in the morning. _A few hours_ was fourteen, at the very least.

“Have you slept?”

“Off and on.” She swallowed thickly and glanced back towards the door. “I should let them know you’re awake.”

Steve just let out a groan. “Then they’ll come in here.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “That _is_ their job.”

“I hate hospitals. Reminds me of being a kid.”

He was always in hospitals. His mother worked at one, so before he was old enough to stay home by himself after school, he’d spent countless hours curled up in some hidden corner, drawing on a legal pad she’d stolen for him while she worked. He’d also been in and out of them as a patient until the serum. They only reminded him of boredom, sickness, and his mother.

“Well maybe you should have thought about that before you let yourself get shot and then inhaled half the river.”

Natasha’s voice was low, as if she’d made an attempt at a joke, but it still came out harshly. Guilt churned in the pit of his stomach. And then an idea crossed his mind.

Instead of replying to her, he pulled his elbows in and braced himself before lifting his upper body off of the pillow. Pain erupted from his abdomen, quickly spreading everywhere else the more he moved; but he breathed through it, sliding his palms to rest on either side of the mattress and pushing up some more.

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Natasha hissed, reaching out to wrap her fingers lightly around his arm in an attempt to stop him. He ignored her and pushed himself sideways towards the left side of the bed.

“Come here,” he said finally. She froze, finally realizing what he was doing.

“Don’t be an idiot, Rogers. I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No, you won’t.” He settled himself back down, wincing against the pain. “You need to sleep. Nothing I say will convince you to go home, and you’ll never get comfortable in that thing.”

She hesitated, but didn’t make a move to leave. Instead she lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, her own wide and uncertain.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Unless you’re _also_ going to shoot me in the stomach-“

“Oh, shut up.” She smiled, even if it was just a little sideways one. ”Alright, fine. But if you’re at _all_ uncomfortable, you tell me. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She just rolled her eyes, but after a few long seconds of careful deliberation, she finally climbed up next to him. He lifted his arm and let her settle in next to him before sliding it around her waist. She curled into his side, her head on his shoulder, and snaked her arm around his chest, avoiding the wound on his stomach.

“I thought you were going to die, Steve.”

Her words were sudden and almost silent, no more than a breath, but they still hung heavy in the air. His breath caught in his throat, and the raging guilt came bubbling back to the surface. He lifted his free hand, the one with the IV in it, and slid it over the arm she had draped across him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shook her head, her fingers fiddling idly with a crease in the blanket covering him. “I would have done the same thing.”

“For Clint?”

She was quiet for a long time, her fingers stilling, before she breathed, “Yeah. For…Clint.”

They lay in silence for a while, the only sounds being the low beeps across the room, occasional passersby out in the hallway, and Natasha’s soft breaths. He tried to let himself drift, but whatever meds they’d attempted to keep in his system were wearing off quickly and the pain was coming back, from his abdomen to the back of his thigh to his head to the side of his face where Bucky’s metal fist had sliced open his skin.

“Are you going to go after him?”

It was like she could read his mind. He opened his eyes and gazed blearily up at the ceiling.

“I have to.”

“I can help,” she replied softly, carefully lifting her head to look him in the eyes. “A lot of people owe me.”

She’d gone through a _lot_ the last few days. He could see it in her eyes, even if she was trying to hide it. There was a lot more going on than she was telling him. And letting her dive right back into it for his own selfish reasons?

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking.”

That was that, it seemed. He didn’t argue, and she didn’t continue to convince him. Instead she averted her gaze and settled back down, stretching her arm across his midsection again and burying her face against his chest.

She didn’t speak again, and they fell back into silence. She eventually stilled, falling asleep before him. It took a while, but the combination of the serum, the remaining pain meds, and pure exhaustion - and the feeling of having Natasha so close to him again, like she had been the night before - dulled his senses enough to finally allow him sleep as well.

The next time he woke up, there was sunlight streaming through the window and soft music filling the room. He blinked sleepily, glancing down and expecting to see Natasha still curled up next to him.

She was gone. He hadn’t even remembered her leaving.

He caught movement in the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Sam occupying the same chair Natasha had the night before, reading a book. He closed his eyes again, letting out a long breath- of exhaustion or disappointment that she was gone, he didn’t know.

“On your left.”

_DAYS AFTER THE FALL OF SHIELD: 8_

A week later, Steve remained stuck in the hospital. The gunshot wound on his stomach was still an issue, even with the serum working as hard as it was. It had been a clean shot - through and through, luckily without hitting any vital organs - and while the doctors weren’t worried about infection anymore, it still wasn’t healing as quickly as expected.

Sam had been by every day to visit him, as well as Maria and Tony a few times each. Natasha hadn’t been back once.

She’d fallen asleep next to him that first night, snuck out while he was asleep, and he hadn’t heard from her since. He only knew she was still in the country because she’d just appeared on the tiny television in the hospital room he’d called home for the last several days.

She was much more put together than the last time he’d seen her: her hair was sleek and straight again, makeup on, wearing a simple black suit. She was standing next to Clint and speaking to someone who had their back to the camera.

Steve had wanted to be there for this. They’d fast-tracked the hearing, needing to get as much correct information out as soon as possible. The government was a _mess_. People were being arrested every day as experts dug through all of the files Natasha had leaked onto the internet. There were conflicting stories of what happened at the Triskelion, mostly by SHIELD agents who had seen the entire thing at a distance while fleeing the building. There had also been a staggering amount of casualties, most of which were predicted to be at the hands of exposed Hydra agents; thanks to the entire organization crumbling so quickly, it was almost impossible to determine who authorities needed to be looking for.

But the government wanted someone to take the blame for this disaster, and they wanted someone to take the blame _now_.

They’d come for Steve, of course, but thanks to the resources of an unknown source (he knew without asking that it had been Maria and Fury), he had 24/7 security that hadn’t allowed a single official or media outlet to have access to him. The only outside party he’d spoken to was a lawyer provided by Stark Industries that would be helping to protect him, Sam, and Natasha.

“Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Steve’s mind had been wandering while he stared at Natasha through the screen. He hadn’t realized they were starting.

”I do.”

They immediately got down to business, Natasha taking a seat, ignoring the glass of water an aide put in front of her. She sat back in her chair, expressionlessly eyeing the men across the room from her, waiting for them to begin. Steve didn’t really know them, just that they were various senators and government officials that he’d probably come into contact with at some point over the last two years. He hadn’t bothered to remember who they were. Half of them were probably Hydra anyway.

“Could you please begin by stating your full name for the record?” One of the men said, adding harshly, “Your _real_ name?”

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” she answered, her Russian accent coloring her voice with each syllable.

“And what other… _aliases_ do you operate under in the United States?”

“You know, Senator, Google is a _wonderful_ thing,” she replied flatly. There was a low buzz among the crowd, and Sam snorted where he was sitting in the chair next to Steve’s bed.

“Answer the question, Agent Romanoff,” the man demanded irritably.

“Seems like you just answered it for me.” He gave her a withering glare. “Legally, Natasha Romanoff. And a few years ago, I executed a long-term operation at Stark Industries for SHIELD as Natalie Rushman.”

“Thank you, _Agent_.” The senator glanced down at the pile of papers in front of him. “Can you please explain, in your own words, what happened last week at the Triskelion?”

Natasha took a deep breath that oozed irritation even on camera.

“On Friday morning, Captain Rogers and I, along with Strike Team, were dispatched to the Lumerian Star in response to a hostage situation.”

“A hostage situation that was orchestrated by the late Director Nicholas Fury, correct?”

“Yes, Nick Fury hired the pirates who took the ship hostage in order to gain intel.”

“And _you_ knew about this, correct?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened and she took another even breath. “Director Fury called me into his office earlier that morning. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he had suspected SHIELD might be compromised and wanted me to discreetly gather related intel from the Lumerian Star.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that this behavior might be suspicious?”

“Of course it did. But it’s not my place to question a direct order, and I trusted Nick.”

“Where were you when Nick Fury was murdered?”

Natasha averted her gaze, staring down at the desk instead. Playing them. Making them think the question had upset her. Had Steve not seen the man himself, very much alive, he’d have believed her too.

“I was at home. I was injured that morning and had taken some pain medication. I found out he’d been shot after he’d already been taken to the hospital.”

“And what is your response to claims that Nick Fury was present at the Triskelion last week when Secretary Pierce was shot?”

“I saw him _die_.” Natasha’s voice shook. Just enough to be believable. “I saw him _bleed out_ on the operating table.”

“Then who is responsible for Alexander Pierce’s death, as well as the rest of the World Security Council?”

Steve felt Sam’s eyes on him. He hadn’t heard this story himself yet, and still had no idea what had actually happened in Pierce’s office, just that no one besides Natasha and Fury had survived.

“I didn’t see him get shot.” Was she lying? Steve couldn’t tell.

“Councilwoman Pamela Hawley has gone on record stating you approached her and went to that meeting in her place, and you are, _conveniently_ , the only one who made it out alive. What is your response to that?”

“Alexander Pierce murdered Councilmen Singh, Yen, and Rockwell with electromagnetic pins. I’m sure a medical professional can fill you in on the details. I attempted to short mine out in order to save my own life and was knocked unconscious.”

“And what happened when you woke up?”

“Secretary Pierce was dead, and there was a helicarrier falling out of the sky towards the building.”

“And _what happened_?”

Natasha shot him an exasperated look. “I got out of the way of the helicarrier, _sir_.”

Steve choked out a laugh that made the still irritated wound on his stomach twinge. The senator rolled his eyes, but continued his questions. He went back to Nick, then asked her how they discovered Hydra. Of course, most of Camp Lehigh had been destroyed, so there was no evidence there, but she told them about it anyway.

“Why haven’t we yet heard from Captain Rogers?”

Natasha shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Steve’s name, sitting upright and crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

“I don’t know what there is left for him to say. I think the wreck in the middle of the Potomac made his point fairly eloquently,” she replied rigidly, her eyes suddenly darting around the room, avoiding the senator’s gaze. 

“Well, he could explain how this country is expected to maintain its national security now that he _and_ you have laid waste to our intelligence apparatus.”

“Hydra was selling you _lies_ , not intelligence,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him again.

“Many of which you seemed to have had a personal hand in telling.”

Natasha stiffened, her jaw tightening defiantly. Another senator leaned forward, suddenly speaking up. Steve recognized him. He’d been vocal about his dislike for the Avengers since the Battle of New York.

“Agent, you should know that there are some on this committee who feel, given your service record both for this country and against it, that you belong in a penitentiary. Not _mouthing off_ on Capitol Hill.”

Natasha’s expression went completely blank, and she tilted her head just slightly. Steve couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his lips. He knew that look.

“You’re not going to put me in a prison. You’re not going to put _any_ of us in a prison.” Her eyebrow twitched upwards. “You know why?”

The senator let out an exasperated sigh. “Do enlighten us.”

“Because you need us.” She paused, her lips curving upwards just slightly. “Yes, the world _is_ a vulnerable place. And yes, we help make it that way. But we’re also the ones best qualified to defend it.” She was staring the man down, unblinking. He practically shrank back in his seat. “So if you wanna arrest me, _arrest me_. You’ll know where to find me.”

They just stared at her and each other, dumbfounded. Without another word Natasha stood and turned to walk out of the conference room, followed by a chorus of shouts as reporters and camera crews followed her. The screen switched to a front view, catching the smirk that spread across her face just before meeting up with Clint in the hall and walking out of view.

“Damn,” Sam said finally. Steve just grinned proudly. The camera panned back to the committee, most of whom were speaking angrily with each other. The audio from the room quieted in favor of a voiceover, and Sam reached for the remote to mute the TV.

_DAYS AFTER THE FALL OF SHIELD: 15_

“Why are we here again?”

Sam glanced around suspiciously, but there was no one else in the cemetery. Steve had gotten a text from a blocked number telling him and Sam to meet at these exact coordinates at an exact time. Steve assumed it would either be Natasha, Maria, or-

He stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on a fresh gravestone that read _Col. Nicholas J. Fury_.

“I’m assuming that’s why.” He gestured towards the fake grave, and Sam let out a huff.

“Spies,” he muttered. “Can’t just send you a normal text? _Meet me at Starbucks on Friday_. Ridiculous.”

Steve chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t wrong. Natasha did this to him _constantly_ , breaking into his apartment or tricking him into meeting somewhere instead of just telling him what she wanted.

What he didn’t tell Sam was that he was he’d _really_ hoped Natasha been the one to send him that text. It had been over two weeks now, and even after the hearing last week, she had yet to contact him.

“So…you’ve experienced this sort of thing before?”

Nick came up behind Sam, seemingly out of nowhere. His eye patch was gone, replaced by dark sunglasses, and his hood was pulled up over his head. His arm was still in a sling, but he looked much better than he had two weeks ago. He stopped in front of the gravestone and stared down at it.

“You get used to it,” Steve replied.

“We’ve been data-mining Hydra’s files,” Nick said next, turning towards Steve. _Straight to business._ “Looks like a lot of rats didn’t go down with the ship.” Steve let out a long breath and avoided Nick’s gaze. He should have known this was coming. “I’m heading to Europe tonight. Wanted to ask if you’d come.”

It was tempting. He couldn’t deny that.

What had Natasha said? _You seem pretty chipper for someone who just found out they died for nothin’._ He had been, hadn’t he? Everything had happened so _fast_ that weekend. However, two weeks of being stuck in a hospital bed and then on Sam’s couch had given him a _lot_ of time to think about it. A lot of time to watch the news, to watch all of the files Natasha had leaked start to surface.

A lot of time to get angry. _Very_ angry.

Stark had already contacted him about moving back to New York and helping him clean up the rest of Hydra. Steve had a feeling he had something to do with Nick’s offer. But he had more important things on his mind.

Both Sam and Nick were watching him expectantly.

“There’s something I gotta do first,” he answered. Nick didn’t look surprised. Instead, he turned his head to Sam.

“How about you, Wilson? I could use a man with your abilities.”

Sam took one glance over at Steve that told him he’d already made up his mind. “I’m more of a soldier than a spy.”

“Alright, then.” Nick held out his hand, shaking Sam’s and then Steve’s. “Anybody asks for me, tell ‘em they can find me right here.” He tilted his head at the gravestone.

“You should be honored-” Steve dropped Nick’s hand and spun around at the sound of her voice. Natasha was approaching him, a careful smile plastered on her face, his breath immediately catching in his throat. “That’s as close as he gets to saying thank you.”

“Not going with him?” Steve asked, taking a few steps towards her while Sam held back.

“No,” she answered, dragging out the word.

“Not staying here.” It wasn’t a question. She lifted her eyes to meet his, the smile fading from her lips just slightly.

“No.” She averted her gaze for a second. “I blew all my covers, I gotta go figure out a new one.”

“That might take a while.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She was running. Away from SHIELD, away from Tony’s incessant attempts to get the Avengers back together again…away from him? He couldn’t tell. Probably a combination of all three. He wasn’t surprised, considering he hadn’t heard from her in two weeks.

He should have seen this coming, back at Sam’s a couple weeks ago. When he’d found her with that empty look in her eyes, when she’d been so torn down she finally talked to him, finally opened up to him. When she’d asked him to stay with her later that night, and he’d agreed only because he’d needed her too. When she’d stayed by his side after they found him on the river, bleeding out and inches from death. Sam had told him everything, how she fought to keep him awake, how he found her sitting in the waiting room in a daze, how he had to argue with her about getting herself taken care of while he was in surgery.

He _definitely_ should have known she was going to run when she’d curled up next to him after convincing Sam to go home for the night, and woke up to find her gone.

The smile disappeared from her lips, replaced by one that he knew was only an attempt to cover up the sadness and panic swirling in her eyes.

“That thing you asked for,” she said finally, breaking the tense silence. _You’re not asking_. He may have been incredibly drained that first night after waking up in the hospital, but he did remember her insisting on helping him find Bucky despite him declining. “I called in a few favors from Kiev.”

She held out the file he just realized she’d been holding. It was thick, Cyrillic lettering and notes scribbled all over the front. He wanted to ask her about it - where’d she get it? Is that where she’d been the last two weeks? Who did she know that had this information? - but before he could open his mouth to reply, she beat him to it.

“Will you do me a favor?” Her voice was soft, and he could feel her eyes still on him. He glanced up at her and she gave him a little sideways smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Call that nurse?”

 _Of course._ His heart sank.

“She’s not a nurse,” he replied flatly.

“And _you’re_ not a SHIELD agent.”

Steve sighed. He knew what she was doing. There was a reason she’d disappeared that night, that first one he spent in the hospital, and hadn’t contacted him since. She was panicking. He could see it in her eyes, no matter how hard she was trying to hide it.

He didn’t want to date _that nurse_. Sure, he’d awkwardly tried to ask her out, but it had been mostly out of spite. He’d been irritated with Natasha, frustrated about SHIELD and feeling low after seeing Peggy that afternoon. He wanted to at least be able to tell her he’d tried. And besides, Kate - Agent 13, whatever her name was - had turned him down. Work-related or not, he wasn’t about to keep harassing her just because the woman he was pretty sure he was in love with kept pushing him towards her.

Oh. That was new.

Was it, though?

_Shit._

“What was her name again?” He didn’t care. He wanted to test her, see her reaction. Figure out why she tried so goddamn hard.

“Sharon,” she supplied, much too quickly. Her eyes clouded over, and she dropped them away from his, just for a second. When she met his gaze again her eyes were expertly empty, the fake smile reappearing. “She’s nice,” she added, with a small nod of reassurance.

Whether she was trying to convince him or herself, he couldn’t tell. He smiled back, but the way her face fell when he did sent an ache through his chest that made the still healing bullet hole through his stomach feel like nothing more than a scratch.

Natasha was just staring at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. They glittered in the sunlight, the reflection from the trees making them appear greener than usual.

Suddenly she moved, reaching out to grab ahold of his shoulder. Her fingers curled into his jacket and she held him tight, using him as leverage to pull herself up on her toes and press her lips softly to his cheek. When she pulled away he caught her eye; the smile was gone completely from her lips now, and he could see the struggle in her eyes not to betray her emotions. She hesitated, her hand still tight on his shoulder.

It hit him, and it hit him hard how much he _didn’t want her to leave_. She was going to be gone for god only knew how long, meaning he wouldn’t see her every day, wouldn’t have her making faces at him across the conference room table during meetings, he wouldn’t come home to her sitting on his kitchen counter with a bag of takeout next to her. He wouldn’t have her to spar with, to _accidentally_ punch him in the face when he tried to hold back, to yell at him to hit her back until he finally slammed her down hard on the mat, sending her into a fit of laughter.

He wouldn’t have her to pull him out of the occasional panic attack or flashback, to calm him down after he woke up screaming and shivering from a nightmare, showing up no more than ten minutes after texting her whether he asked her to come over or not. He wouldn’t be able to be there for her when those things happened, either.

What could he say to change her mind, though? When Natasha had her mind set on something, there wasn’t much anyone could do to sway her. She’d clearly made her decision weeks ago, when she left him at the hospital. Is that why she hadn’t come back until now? Did she think he would talk her out of it?

She started to pull away and he briefly wondered what would happen if he stopped her. If he grabbed her arm firmly enough, kissed her hard enough, held her tight enough. If he begged her not to leave, to come with him to find Bucky instead. Would she? Or would she run away from him even faster and farther?

He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he stood there, like an idiot, and let her walk away.

“Be careful, Steve.” She stopped suddenly, once she was a safe distance away, and turned to look back at him. She nodded towards the file in his hands, and took a staggering breath before lowering her voice. “You might not want to pull on that thread.”

It was a warning. Did she know something, or just not want him to face the reality of what Hydra had done to Bucky?

Before he could ask the question she spun around again and walked briskly back down the path she’d approached on. No more hesitation, no more looking back.

_DAYS AFTER THE FALL OF SHIELD: 278_

Washington DC was cold, but not as cold as Russia.

It was, of course, the end of January, so Natasha expected nothing less. The streets were dry but there was snow piled up on the curbs, grey and slushy from weeks of salt and exhaust fume buildup. Some buildings, the residential ones, still had unlit Christmas lights hanging from their balconies and windows. A depressing reminder of the holiday _she’d_ had, cooped up in a shitty hostel somewhere in Europe (she’d stopped keeping track of where she’d gone after a while), ignoring Clint’s calls and text messages in favor of the bottle of her favorite vodka she’d picked up before leaving Volgograd.

One particular building, which she’d been staring at from across the street for the last seventeen minutes, was dark. Not a single light was on, not even the ones on the top floor with fresh panes of glass that didn’t quite match the rest of them. Nothing out of the ordinary for 1:34 in the morning.

This was a terrible idea.

She crossed the street anyway.

She took her time climbing the steps that led up to the fourth floor. The hallways were dimly lit and quiet, which only made the thumping of her heart that sound much louder. When she reached the top and stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall, she froze.

This was a _very_ terrible idea.

Before she could talk herself out of it she knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer.

Was he even in the country? She knew Sam was home (she happened to know he’d shown up for work that day), and Steve wasn’t at the tower (Stark really needed to work his security protocols if he wanted to keep her out of Jarvis’ system). Where else would he be?

She reached up and pulled a bobby pin out of her hair, causing the little piece it held back to flop over her face. Predictably, he still hadn’t upgraded his locks, and the door popped open with minimal effort.

His apartment was pitch black, and almost completely empty. Only a few pieces of furniture remained - really just the sofa and a desk, from what she could see in the living room - and there were a few boxes stacked in the corner. Was he moving?

She supposed if she’d spoken to him in the last nine months she’d know the answer to that question.

Natasha closed and locked the door behind her before carefully stepping into the apartment. As she ventured further down the hall she noticed his shield, repainted since being dug out of the Potomac, leaning against the wall. If it wasn’t for that, she’d question whether anyone even lived there anymore.

She wandered into the kitchen next. There was a single coffee cup in the sink and a neatly stacked pile of papers on the counter. She leaned over them and recognized James’ file, the one she’d given him last year. It had grown, much thicker than she remembered. Steve had a _lot_ more information than he’d started off with. She leafed through the files a bit, guilt eating away at her when she recognized some of the locations he’d been.

The locations she’d sent him. The fake leads. The misinformation she’d left for him around Russia and Germany that led him in the exact opposite direction he thought he’d been going.

She needed to get out of here. This was a mistake.

The sudden muffled sound of footsteps made her jump uncharacteristically. She shoved all of the papers back together, stacked neatly the way they’d been. His key scraped in the lock and she backed up, concealing herself in the shadows with a vantage of the hallway through the bookcases that separated it from the kitchen. She glanced around frantically, wondering how quickly she could leap across the kitchen counter and slide out of the window before he saw her.

Her breath caught in her throat when he opened the door, the light from the hallway illuminating him from behind. Her heart thumped so hard against her chest she was sure his enhanced hearing be able to detect it.

This was a very, very, awful, _terrible_ idea.

Steve closed the door behind him and shuffled down the hallway, stopping at the the coat rack on the wall to drop his keys onto one of the hooks. He reached up to unzip his jacket, and then he froze.

 _Shit. Shitshitshit_. Natasha let out a slow breath, backing up another half step until she hit the edge of the countertop. He continued unzipping his jacket, slid it off his shoulders, and hung it on its own hook.

“You know,” he said lowly, the sound of his voice sending her heart flying. “I seem to remember asking you to knock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you _so much_ to everyone who read, commented, bookmarked, and left kudos. i see all of it and i truly and sincerely appreciate it. and thank you to [niki](https://natasharomanoff.tumblr.com), who i sent the first few chapters to several months ago after never letting anyone else read anything i've ever written, who encourages me endlessly to keep at it. i love you <3
> 
> this series has four more parts but seeing as how much the winter soldier means so much to me, i think this first part will always hold a special place in my heart. this was where i truly started to dig into the story and decided to make this a long series rather than just a single multi-chapter fic that jumped around the mcu timeline, and somewhere along the way it turned into an arc for natasha that was satisfying for me to get written down and that made me fall in love with her all over again. the rest won't be as solely focused on her (it's definitely more of the two of them both as individual characters and together), but doing my part to give her what she deserved in the mcu is making endgame a little easier to deal with. i hope everyone who stuck with the story this far feels the same. and marvel, if you're reading: natasha isn't that hard to write, you fuckers.
> 
> anyway.
> 
> part two, _no surrender_ , will be up soon! thanks again!
> 
> [tumblr](https://capsiclewidow.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/capsiclewidow)


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